Blood Droplets
by HopeCoppice
Summary: Series of mostly unconnected drabbles, because I seem to do those more often these days. Will include het, slash, femslash, polyamory, future-fic, all sorts of stuff, I don't know. It'll be a ride. Latest: Alone - Malik makes a decision.
1. In Too Deep

**So I had to stay off Twitter for a bit because I needed to wait for Doctor Who to finish and then watch it on iPlayer. I was given 4 song prompts to choose from, to keep me busy. I wrote three drabbles. This is the first - Sum 41's 'In Too Deep'.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

"Not quite. One more time, Vlad, you've got to get the hang of this." Personally, Vlad thought that if it was essential for him to master every complex fighting move Bertrand could think of, it didn't say much for the bodyguards he was bound to be appointed the moment he took office. And oh, yeah, he hadn't done that yet, and already he felt like there was way too much going on in his life.

It was the summer holidays, and Bertrand was keeping him awake for more and more of the day as well as the shortened nights, running over combat move after combat move, vampiric law after ancient vampiric law, protocol, etiquette, a million different things to remember and a thousand different vampires to pander to. It was getting too much – sometimes it was all he could do just to keep his head above water.

He messed up the move again, and would have landed awkwardly on the floor if Bertrand hadn't caught him.  
"Hmm, maybe we're trying too hard. Take a break for five minutes. Find a way to relax." Bertrand had offered to teach him to meditate before, and he'd given it a go, but his thoughts always wandered back to all the things he had to learn. Still, Bertrand insisted that he tried to clear his mind during these rare short breaks, and he was running out of ideas of how to do it.

It was a mark of how addled his brain had become that he thought it would be acceptable to try kissing Bertrand. But it certainly cleared his mind. And as Bertrand kissed him back, five minutes slipped away into ten… fifteen… yes, this was the best break he'd had in a while.


	2. Walk

**Also written while avoiding Doctor Who ep1 spoilers. Foo Fighters - 'Walk'. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Nothing here is mine...**

Bertrand had crossed the Earth more than once in his four centuries, always waiting, searching for the Chosen One, carrying his book with him. He'd stopped, briefly, when he'd arrived in Stokely just barely too late to meet Vladimir Dracula. Ingrid had never seen him, he'd made sure of that, but he'd seen her. He'd wondered if she looked anything like her brother. He'd given up on ever finding out.

It had been a weary Bertrand who'd returned to his little base of operations – a ramshackle hut which had far more in common with a fortress than it appeared – to wait for news of the missing Dracula family or rumours of yet another new claim. He always ended up here, after particularly long journeys or especially harsh disappointments, to recover, lick his wounds, carve another notch into his stake. Well, at least there was no need for _that_ on this occasion, not yet.

Then word had come in; his contacts had heard that the Chosen One's hiding place had been discovered. Indeed, with a steady stream of tutors being called to the boy's aid, he was hardly hiding at all any more. And so Bertrand picked himself up, rolled out of his shroud – he'd grown unused to coffins during his nomadic years – and prepared to set out once again.

This was always the hardest part; leaving the little hovel that wasn't really home, but was the closest thing he'd had for some time, convincing himself that it was worth continuing his search. The odds of another imposter awaiting him at Garside Grange were overwhelming, but he had to try. He put one foot in front of the other, again and again until his house was out of sight.  
_I believe I've waited long enough,_ he told himself, _I believe this is the real Chosen One at last._ It had been an empty hope before, but perhaps, this time…

He stood in the classroom door, and judging by the boy's expression, all Vladimir Dracula wanted to know was what Bertrand's problem was.  
_Where do I begin?_


	3. Dog Days Are Over

**And the last of episode one's "Don't spoil Doctor Who for myself by going on Twitter" drabbles. Obviously all three were written pretty fast. This one's based on Florence and the Machine's 'Dog Days Are Over'. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

_She was running from the slayers, and they were gaining on her. Then, suddenly, from nowhere, a car pulled up – "Get in!" – and she was speeding away in the company of a blonde girl she'd never seen before, a slightly terrified grin on her face as she manoeuvred the car along winding country roads. Ingrid couldn't help grinning back, but then the car broke down and the slayers were close again…_

Ingrid sat up in her coffin, thankful that she – unlike her brother – had been blessed with the brains to realise that coffins could be slept in whether or not the lid was actually on them. She groped around for the goblet she kept close at hand for such occasions as these, filling it from the bottle she'd swiped from the Blood Cellar the night before. Her hands definitely weren't shaking as she replaced the cork. She barely took a sip, the taste suddenly unpalatable, not as rich or sweet as it had once been.

She made her way quietly to the kitchen, tipping the blood down the sink and rinsing the goblet. Obviously something was wrong with the blood; the cork had interfered with the taste or something. There was nothing wrong with _her_, she certainly wasn't frightened and she didn't feel the slightest bit sick.  
"Couldn't sleep again?" She wasn't even surprised to see the half-fang standing in the doorway wearing a sympathetic expression.  
"You too." This wasn't the first such meeting they'd had. Erin shrugged; she was newly bitten, she didn't have to be completely adjusted yet. She was allowed to be afraid. Ingrid didn't have much time to envy her that freedom, though, as the half-fang spoke again.  
"I thought maybe _Mean Girls_ tonight. Want to join me? I think you'll like it."

They'd both been having trouble sleeping since Erin had saved her unlife and they'd both nearly died at the hands of the slayers, and the blonde had taken to sneaking into the library and commandeering the TV they watched educational videos on during the day for midnight movie marathons with Ingrid. The films were stereotypically girly, and limited to what the school library had to offer, but - despite the abundance of pink packaging they both pulled faces at - Ingrid was sort of enjoying the overwhelming femininity of it all. She'd spent her unlife playing second fiddle to men; it was nice to curl up with a female friend – a friend, a rarity in itself – and enjoy something that didn't make her want to apologise for her own anatomy.  
"You've never met a girl as mean as me." Erin laughed and grabbed her hand, pulling her up the stairs to the library. Ingrid _did_ like it, actually.

Months later, when Erin was a breather again, and an ex-slayer, and a bewildering range of treachery had taken place, she was walking through the courtyard on her way to nowhere in particular. It was strange, the tension in the Dracula household, and even Vlad was barely talking to her. He hadn't so much as glanced up when she'd pointed out the flyer for the midnight market being held on the other side of town that night. Ingrid was nowhere to be seen, as usual, and in the end Erin had decided to risk a short walk to the nearest park and back.

She was somewhat taken aback to see her own car start up, the moment she stepped through the school gates, and lurch forward. Ingrid leant out of the window and grinned at her, blasting the horn. "Get in, loser, we're going shopping." Erin couldn't suppress her laughter, and it felt so good to laugh after all the oppressive tension of the last few weeks.  
"Who even taught you to drive?"  
"Taught me?" Ingrid confirmed her worst fears. "I'm Ingrid Dracula, Princess of Darkness. How hard could it be?" The blonde girl's face was a picture.  
"Shove over. I'll drive."


	4. Doctor Who

**Prompt: Vlad and Bertrand watch ****_Doctor Who_****. I took liberties, sorry. Deal with it. Slash.**

**Disclaimer: Not miiiiiine...**

"…And he's got this blue police box, only it's not really a police box, it's a time machine but the chameleon circuit got stuck so it looks like a police box and it's bigger on the inside and he just wanders through space saving the universe." Erin grinned at them expectantly.  
"Sorry… _what?_" Bertrand was relieved that Vlad had been the one to ask; he'd thought he must just be hopelessly out of touch.  
"Just watch it, you'll enjoy it." She turned the television on and they all obediently sat.

Vlad's eyes never left the screen as his hand slid carefully across the carpet until it found Bertrand's, lacing their fingers together. Bertrand shifted slightly closer and leant in to whisper in the boy's ear.  
"Do you have a clue what's going on?"  
"Shh!" That was Erin, on Vlad's other side. Vlad shook his head, a tiny smile gracing his lips. Bertrand tried to focus on the screen for a few more minutes, but he found himself distracted by Vlad's thumb rubbing across his own. He leant in again.  
"Do you think the slayer can hear what I'm saying?"  
"Shh!" Vlad's little smirk grew and he shook his head again. Bertrand sat back for a moment, then leant in a third time, getting even closer to Vlad's ear as he began to whisper. Erin shot him a dirty look, but apparently he was being quiet enough and she ignored him. Vlad, meanwhile, couldn't ignore him if he tried and was becoming increasingly distracted from the convoluted plot unfolding on the screen.

"MOFFAT!" Erin yelled in despair as the episode ended on a cliffhanger.  
"Shh!" Vlad rolled his eyes and turned back to Bertrand. "Sorry, didn't quite catch that last bit." Bertrand was about to keep whispering, but the Chosen One shook his head. "Show me." Then he pulled his tutor to his feet and out of the room.


	5. Blink

**So this time I was prompted to do something similar to the last one, but Vlad/Erin. So I got to thinking about what would happen if they watched the Weeping Angel episode...**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

_"Don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink, and you're dead." ~ The Doctor, 'Blink', Doctor Who_

Erin and Vlad sat cross-legged on the floor, knees almost touching as they stared at each other, refusing to blink.  
"I'm dead anyway, of course," Vlad began conversationally, trying to break her concentration.  
"Yeah, it's kind of cheating." She answered, not looking away.  
"I can't help it!"  
"Vlad, don't blink!" He hadn't, but she was hoping to catch him off-guard.  
"You know I didn't."

They were still sitting there a few seconds later when Bertrand stuck his head round the door, confused to see the couple sitting in silence.  
"Vlad?" The Chosen One sighed, standing and rubbing at his eyes.  
"Yeah? Oh, training. Right. Sorry, Erin, I guess you wi- oh, _garlic_." Erin was still sitting on the floor, staring intently at the place where Vlad's eyes had been. He scrambled back to his seated position and clicked his fingers before blinking obviously.  
"Ha! I win!"  
"Yeah, you got me. I've got training, talk to you later, yeah?" She nodded and he left, hoping she never realised what had actually happened.


	6. Are You Going to Eat That?

**Slightly more 'mature', this one, so don't read it if you're easily offended. Kind of dark, and some implied sex. Vlad's probably horribly OOC but do I care? I do not, for 'tis 2am and I'm just bored.**

**Disclaimer: Thankfully, none of these characters belong to me.**

Bertrand watched idly from the bar as Ingrid prowled through the club, shrugging men off as she made her way towards Erin with a drink in each hand. Vlad caught his attention, trying some of the old Dracula charm on the breather population; Bertrand didn't really understand the appeal of kissing one's food, let alone doing anything else with it, but since they'd all left school Vlad seemed to have found quite a liking for the pastime. Even now, he was leading a striking female from the crowd, out into the cold outside.

Bertrand took the time to finish his cocktail – a disgusting affair, not at all worthy of the name 'Bloody Mary' but he supposed he should have expected that the breathers would mix it differently – and mull over Vlad's progress from staunch advocate of breather-vampire relations to a somewhat more laissez-faire figure. It had been a slow change over the last few months of his time at Garside, but with slayer threats and broken truces piling up on him, he'd given up on the entire treaty idea and simply sworn to stay off of real blood himself. Ingrid, as his number two, had done her best to cut down, but beyond that the Chosen One didn't seem to care who drank what any more. Which worked out just fine for Bertrand.

He stepped out into the cold and followed his sensitive ears, leaning against a wall just outside an alleyway from which – sure enough – Vlad shortly emerged, turning back towards the club.  
"Are you going to eat that?" Vlad glanced round, surprised, then shook his head.  
"You know I don't, Bertrand." The older vampire nodded.  
"Mind if I-?" Vlad grimaced.  
"Don't drink it all." With that, he headed back into the club, still tucking his shirt in as he went.

Bertrand smirked and slipped into the alleyway to find Vlad's conquest.


	7. Self Defence

**Loosely inspired by episode three of 'Bad Education'. Slashy goodness. Enjoy. I own nothing.**

"Bertrand, can I have a word in my office?" He didn't know why Miss McCauley still bothered phrasing it as a question; it wasn't as if he could refuse, even if after three classes on the English Civil War the last thing he wanted to do was have a chat with the Head.

He started to worry a little when Vlad appeared, Miss McCauley greeting him and ushering him in as if there was nothing strange about the situation. What did she need to talk to them both for? Had they somehow aroused her suspicions about their relationship again?  
"I understand you teach Vlad a little self-defence as well as tutoring him, Bertrand?" He nodded absently, still trying to work out what game she was playing. "I was wondering if you'd be willing to take a class on the subject, for the sixth formers?" He exchanged a worried glance with Vlad – he might be capable of absolute self-control while teaching History, but a more hands-on subject like self-defence could only end in blood. And just imagine if he had to attempt to spar with Becky, who had an obvious crush on him and didn't care who knew it.

"I don't think-" McCauley interrupted, turning to Vlad.  
"And perhaps you could help him, since you obviously train together anyway."  
"Train?" Vlad's eyes widened and she frowned.  
"In self-defence, yes. Unless you're preparing for any marathons you haven't told me about!"  
"You want me and Bertrand to demonstrate self-defence to the rest of the sixth-form?" The two training partners' eyes met just for a second, and they knew they were both thinking exactly the same thing.

_"And this is how you immobilise an opponent on the ground-" Bertrand demonstrated, Vlad letting him throw him to the ground and pin him in place. So far, he'd managed to avoid slipping up and mentioning fangs or stakes, and the Chosen One had resisted the urge to show him up apart from in one of their first demonstrations as he slipped out of a headlock and kicked his tutor in the back of the knees. This was the penultimate move they were showing, and soon they would be free to go. Which, of course, is when Vlad pulled him down and kissed him._

_Time seemed to slow down as the class stared at them, Bertrand unable to bring himself to try to pull away. Vlad would be humiliated if he did – at least this way they would share the disgrace. For several long seconds, nobody moved. Then the shouting began._

"…I'm flattered that you'd ask," Bertrand began delicately, tearing his eyes from Vlad's, "but I don't think I'm qualified to take such a class. I'm sure the local gym-"  
"And I hate doing stuff in front of the class, I get shy, I couldn't do it anyway. But thanks." Miss McCauley nodded, clearly disappointed, but forced a smile as she stood.  
"Yes, I'll get in touch with the gym. Thank you for considering it, at any rate. It's no problem at all." They took the implicit dismissal and made straight for the Dracula quarters, and safety from McCauley.

"Bertrand, I really do think I need showing how to immobilise an opponent on the ground." Vlad began abruptly, changing course for the training room. "Show me?" Bertrand treated him to a wolfish grin and began walking faster.  
"Of course."


	8. Age and Argument

**Somewhat inspired by a combination of my latest Auldearn drabble ('Company') and another prompt from redrachxo, which I will eventually fill properly. Slash, of course.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"Go on, it'll be fun." Bertrand shook his head.  
"I don't want to, Vlad. You go, I'll stay here and read up on-"  
"Don't do that. You always make me feel bad about how much work I've got to do, and-"  
"That's not what I-"  
"-I just want to go out, to a club, with my boyfriend, just once. Can't we?"  
"I don't see the appeal, all that noise and… drunken behaviour." Vlad snorted.  
"Oh, Bertrand, don't be such an old man."  
"I was an old man before I met you." Bertrand met his eyes, a challenge. "Or do you forget that?"

Vlad faltered.  
"What do you mean?"  
"You act like I'm a teenager, like you. I'm four hundred years old, is it surprising we don't like all the same things?" The Chosen One frowned.  
"So you've outgrown having fun, is that what you're saying? And I'm a naïve little child?"  
"That's not-"  
"You didn't have to say it, Bertrand, I know what you think of me. Blood and garlic, what made me think this was ever a good idea?" His tutor's eyes widened.  
"What?"  
"Well, look at the age difference. Look how different we are in other ways – you read law books for _fun_, for fog's sake! Maybe we should just accept that it's never going to work."  
"You don't mean that…" Bertrand sounded afraid, now, a tone of voice Vlad had never heard him use.  
"Don't tell me what I mean! Just because I'm younger, it doesn't mean you get to tell me what I'm thinking. I'm the one in charge here, Bertrand, and you don't get to know best all the time!"  
"I'm not- I don't- Vlad, _please_." He was begging, now, voice wavering, and Vlad realised that in all the time he'd known him, Bertrand had only ever shown that level of emotion for one person.

They both stood frozen for a moment, all too aware of the fragility of their relationship as it hung in the balance. The wrong words from either of them could shatter everything in an instant, and neither wanted to risk it. Eventually, it was Bertrand who spoke again.  
"Let's go to the club." Vlad was caught off-guard, surprised by the sudden change in topic, Bertrand's willingness to experience a club full of breathers.  
"What?"  
"I've been acting like an old man for too long. You're the one who made me feel young again, Vlad, if you want to go clubbing I'll do it. Just…" The strength in his voice disappeared again. "Just don't throw me away." Vlad stared at him, waves of guilt crashing over him as he realised how much his angry words had hurt and scared his lover. The guilt, however, was followed by a surge of a stronger, warmer emotion, and he wrapped his arms around Bertrand before he could protest.  
"We'll go out tomorrow, maybe. Tonight, we're staying in. And you're not reading." Judging by the slow smile that crept across Bertrand's face, he understood. Vlad would certainly do his best to make him feel young again. "I love you, Bertrand," he whispered into his ear, "don't forget that."

Bertrand kissed him gently.  
"You too."


	9. Hanging

**Just a little random fluffy thing because the last thing was kinda semi-angsty. I own nothing!**

"Vlad," Bertrand began, "do you want to explain what exactly happened here?"

He had come into the boy's room to collect him for training and found him draped across his sofa, traffic cone on his head, a diversion sign propped against his coffin, mumbling a sea shanty in his sleep. Where Vlad had learnt a sea-shanty, he had no idea, but he did know he hadn't learnt it very well. Either that, or the words had changed since he last put to sea.

The Chosen One lifted his head with some difficulty and smiled at him.  
"Got drunk. Hungover now, you'll have to come and kiss it better." Bertrand rolled his eyes, but came to perch on the edge of the sofa beside him.  
"Good night then?" Vlad shrugged.  
"Would have been better with you." Then he pulled him down and kissed him, tasting faintly of cheap beer. Bertrand drew back, pulling a face.  
"Oh, Vlad. You could have at least gone for the decent stuff."


	10. Bite

**WARNING - this chapter is... quite racy, so if you don't like that kind of thing don't read it. Slash.**

**So... redrachxo felt that I'd put Bertrand through so much suffering today that he deserved something racy and preferably bitey. And she does nag when she doesn't get her way :P Nah, just kidding. But this is for you, Red, and it's entirely your fault so I hope you like it.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Good gods, it seems it would be an altogether different kind of show if I was writing for it tonight...**

Training had devolved into rolling-on-the-floor again, and Bertrand couldn't even honestly say he minded. After a few minutes of playful tussling, Vlad managed to get the upper hand and pin his tutor to the ground, running kisses down his neck and back up again, making Bertrand shiver. The younger vampire sat up, still straddling Bertrand's hips in a way that could only barely be explained away if anyone walked in – not that anyone ever did – and began undoing his lover's shirt in a way that certainly couldn't. Bertrand let him, watching to see what the boy would do next.

Vlad ran his hand down Bertrand's newly-exposed chest, chewing his lip thoughtfully. Bertrand couldn't resist reaching up to kiss that poor abused lip, but when he lay back, Vlad still looked pensive. His tutor could almost see the idea taking shape behind his protégé's eyes, but he couldn't make out what it was.  
"Bertrand," Vlad said hesitantly, after a moment, "don't take this the wrong way…" His tutor stiffened; that was always the most unsettling start to a sentence, "but I want to… Forget it." He turned his face away, and Bertrand was sure that if he could blush, he would be doing so. He rocked his hips upwards slightly, effectively catching Vlad's attention. The younger vampire's eyes snapped back to his.  
"What do you want, Vlad?" The Chosen One closed his eyes for a moment, obviously regretting what he was about to say in advance. Then they slowly opened again, and the tiniest whisper slipped out.  
"Can I bite you?"

Bertrand froze; the question was so intimate, and demanded so much trust. He understood why Vlad hadn't wanted to ask. Biting another vampire was an intense sign of dominance, a power play. It put the recipient in their place, not to mention that the marks would show everyone who wore the fangs in a relationship. And it required the recipient of the bite to be completely certain that the biter wouldn't go too far and slay them. But didn't he already know Vlad was the boss? There was no shame in being bitten by the future Grand High Vampire, was there? It was just the lack of control that terrified him. And there was one thing he needed to know.

"Why?" Vlad didn't seem to have been expecting the question, mortified as he was.  
"I'm sorry, I didn't- _why?"_  
"Yes. Is it a power thing?" It mattered, somehow, Vlad's motive. "To show you're on top?"  
"No! No, it's – I just…" He lowered his voice so far that Bertrand had to strain to hear him. "Not on the neck or anything, I just want… I want you to be _mine_. I'd be the only person who'd bitten you like this, right? I'd be your first love bite." Somehow, it was all impossibly cute when you looked at it that way. Bertrand was about to agree when Vlad continued. "And… you could bite me back if you wanted."

His tutor shook his head.  
"I couldn't, Vlad, it wouldn't be right-" Vlad fixed him with a Look.  
"Bertrand, you're my tutor, I'm the future Grand High Vampire, and we're dealing with a four hundred year age difference. On paper, none of this is _right_." He closed his eyes with a sigh. "It's alright, I just… it was just a crazy idea, that's all. I was just wondering what your teeth would feel like on my skin…" Bertrand closed his eyes, trying to fight the rush of arousal Vlad's words brought.  
"_Fog_. Do it." Vlad stared at him.  
"What?"  
"Do it, bite me. You know I'm yours anyway, who cares who else knows?" He pulled Vlad back down, tangling his hands into his hair, pressing their lips together until Vlad suddenly shifted to the side, kissing his way around to near Bertrand's ear, hand running down to stroke his thigh.  
"You're sure?" Bertrand barely managed to force a _yes _out, accompanied by a string of curse words. It was enough for Vlad; he kissed his way roughly down Bertrand's neck before sinking his teeth gently into the flesh of his shoulder. Bertrand panicked for a split second, buried memories of being sired forcing their way to the surface, but then his hips bucked up against Vlad's as an overwhelming feeling of pleasure took over. The younger vampire pulled back, soothing the bite marks on his lover's shoulder with his tongue, and hurried to claim Bertrand's lips again.

The older vampire rolled them over so that he was on top, a sudden stab of terror running through him. Did Vlad see him differently now? Was he just Vlad's plaything? As if he could read his thoughts, Vlad pulled back, removing his hands from where they'd been fisted in Bertrand's shirt to pull at his own, exposing his neck and shoulders.  
"I'm yours too, Bertrand." His tutor leant down and very, very slowly began to kiss the point where the Chosen One's neck met his shoulder, aware that this would in any other circumstances count as treason. He allowed himself the tiniest scrape of teeth against pale skin, just to see how Vlad would react, and was surprised by the low moan the younger vampire let out. "More."

If his heart had still been a functional muscle, it would have been pounding as he nipped gently at Vlad's skin, not hard enough to leave marks. This was unthinkable; how dare he take such liberties with the future Grand High Vampire? But Vlad's hand was in his hair, encouraging him, and he could feel himself getting dangerously close to losing control as his teeth sank deeper. He pulled away, disgusted with himself. How could he risk hurting Vlad like that? But the younger vampire followed his movement, catching him and gathering him into his arms.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments, before Vlad rested his head on Bertrand's shoulder and sighed contentedly.  
"You know," he began in an offhand tone of voice, "when I was about six years old, Ingrid told me some story about how if you bit someone and they bit you back, you had to stay together forever."  
"Childish rubbish," Bertrand murmured. And then, "…Can we?"  
"Got to." Vlad snuggled closer into him. "Stuck with me now. You bit me back."  
"Good." Bertrand was surprised to find that he really meant that. "_Good_."  
"Now that's settled…" Vlad smirked wickedly at him. "Where were we…?"


	11. Party

**Spin-off of another, really long fic I'm writing at the moment, but it's got no spoilers and it stands alone, so... enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Young Dracula, or indeed the history of the British Monarchy, so... yeah, none of this is fact, canon, or mine. Although the dates and places are as accurate as I could make them.**

Bertrand had been to very few parties in the last few centuries, but his favourite memories were of the ones his old friend Charlie had hosted in the 1670s.

He'd been a good host, Charles – never overly concerned with who you were as long as you were prepared to get plastered and chase the ladies in waiting, which for Charles' sake the vampire could at least pretend to do. They'd met in France, and Bertrand had travelled to Spain with his party before Charles returned to England, so the vampire was always welcome at the large feasts the man was so fond of holding. He'd despised England in the Puritan years before his friend took over, so a little partying was more or less what he needed.

Had he known that last party would _be_ the last he attended, he probably would have made more of an effort to say something nice to his friend. He hadn't been so opposed to breathers back then; he hadn't been ashamed to admit that he considered Charles almost as a wayward younger brother. But he'd been called away – another rumour of the Chosen One, and Charles had accepted his apologies for the next few parties, and then suddenly the world was abuzz with talk of James, the new king.

He'd been sorry to hear of his friend's death, truly sorry at first, but as years went by and he was shunned from every social occasion under the moon, he began to resent him for leaving Bertrand alone. He had no right to just die like that. Bertrand wouldn't have done it to him. Clearly he, the vampire, was just the superior being, the better person.

He clung to the anger. It made it easier to carry on.


	12. Vampires Will Never Hurt You

**Inspired by My Chemical Romance's 'Vampires Will Never Hurt You'. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own neither the song (****_lyrics quoted in italics)_**** or the show.**

_And if they get me and the sun goes down into the ground…_

"Erin, if they get me, you know what to do." She nodded and he clapped her on the shoulder. "Don't worry, sis, I'd do the same for you." Her eyes widened but there was nothing that could stop his sister; not fear, not doubt. They would wipe out this rogue vampiress easily, earn back their family's honourable place in the Guild. "Ready?" She nodded again.  
"Let's go."

Later, when Ingrid had escaped and Erin was speeding through the countryside trying to keep her in sight, Ryan lay in the boot and wondered what he hoped would happen. He'd told her what to do before the attack, but she'd changed her mind when it came to the crunch; she couldn't drive the stake into his heart and he knew, deep down, that if their positions had been reversed he'd probably have had the same problem. She was determined to fix him, and even though he knew it was too late, that there was no way of saving him now he'd been bitten, he clung to the idea. Over the next few nights he would alternate between begging for the stake and hoping she let him run away. Eventually, one of those wishes was granted and he took off into the night.

* * *

When he returned, it was to Ingrid. She had made him what he was, she was his Queen and he would kneel at her feet for the rest of his existence if it made her happy. He watched as the rest of her household, the rest of the vampire _world _treated her like nothing, an insignificant detail in the rich tapestry of the Draculas, and it made him _feel_ like the soulless creature of darkness he'd become. He could have ripped out each of their throats a thousand times, if Ingrid had commanded it; he nearly did it anyway, but she was bound by a truce and it would do her no good for him to compromise that.

He came to her one night, before dawn broke, and asked her how she could stand it, knowing how much better than them she was, letting them walk all over her. She looked at him as if for the first time.  
"Sometimes it hurts," she admitted, "but for now it's how it is."

Later, much later, when he thought she was asleep, he whispered into her hair before slipping out of the room.

_I'll never let them hurt you, I promise._

* * *

_And now the night comes as the stage for this – they come in pairs…_

The slayers had been clever; they'd divided the household into manageable chunks, red herrings summoning various Draculas to the four winds. Ryan and Bertrand had been cornered in an old barn, only two slayers to guard them. The sun had come up while they'd been immobilised, and the slayers knew their prisoners couldn't escape whether they killed them or not. They'd kept them for interrogation; that was their mistake.

Ryan glanced across at the tutor, meeting his eye. They'd lasted this long; the afternoon was slipping away into evening and then they would have a chance. He knew Bertrand was trying to reach Vlad through telepathy, had probably succeeded. He would know where the Dracula siblings were, if they were safe. He felt a thought brush against the edge of his mind and, expecting it to be Bertrand explaining a plan, he let it in.

_I'll never let them hurt you, not tonight._

The voice was Ingrid's; he got a vivid mental image of her helping Vlad into his flying cape, putting on the boots she called her 'killer heels' for good reason. Two slayers at the gates of the school, he somehow sensed, and he knew there would be no stopping the Draculas after sunrise. Through Ingrid's mind's eye, he could see Vlad relaying a similar message to Bertrand; opening his own eyes, he watched as Bertrand gave an almost imperceptible nod.

The slayers were growing nervous, their grips on their stakes tightening as they realised they were running out of time. If the vampires were going to make a move, it wouldn't be until sunset. They had to decide now whether interrogating them was worth keeping them alive. Bertrand glanced over at him and raised an eyebrow; it was time to have a little fun, now they knew the cavalry were coming. Ryan suspected that Bertrand had known all along; he couldn't have doubted that Vlad would come for him if it was even remotely possible to do so. They sped off in different directions, hitting the corners of the building and crouching in the shadows.

"Everything changes when darkness falls." Bertrand sounded as if he was enjoying the speech. "Doesn't it, slayer?" He suddenly hissed directly in the face of one of their guards, streaking off again before either of them could react.

Ryan grinned; he was sure the tutor wouldn't mind him stealing his thunder with his new-found confidence. He took up the narrative as they both changed positions again, never staying in one place for long enough for the slayers to get close. It wouldn't be a long game; the Draculas would be here at dusk.  
"All comes down to one question really."

_Can you stake me before the sun goes down?_


	13. Jealousy

**Another quick one-shot inspired by a combination of two redrachxo prompts: Bertrand finally getting his turn to make Vlad jealous, and a fic with Becky in it. Slash and het. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Becky had brought him an apple.

Of all the stupid, tawdry breather clichés, she had actually brought in a large red apple, polished it against her skirt so that it shone, and placed it on the edge of his desk. He didn't know how to respond.  
"Oh, for me, Becky?" He was about to tell her that he didn't eat apples, but then he caught sight of Vlad, sitting at the back with Erin, staring in their direction and wearing approximately the same expression one might conceivably expect to find on the face of a bulldog chewing a wasp. "…Thank you."

* * *

Vlad scowled, ignoring Erin as she tried to tell him about some kind of homework they'd apparently been given, and stormed up to Bertrand as he stood talking to Becky. This had been going on for weeks now, Bertrand laughing and smiling and spending time with… _Becky_, of all people. And what had happened to her fancying Vlad, anyway? When he'd tried to warn her off of getting too close to his tutor, she'd told him it wasn't her fault he and Erin had broken up and he couldn't stop her talking to Bertrand. He hadn't told her that if she hadn't distracted him by flirting with Bertrand all the time, he and Erin might have managed to stay together.

He grabbed Bertrand's arm and dragged him into the nearest classroom, ignoring Becky's protests and Erin's raised eyebrows.  
"I could report you, you know. Miss McCauley would fire you if she knew you were playing games with Becky."  
"Playing games?" Bertrand's face was all injured confusion and innocence. Additionally, Vlad realised, Bertrand wouldn't care one bit if McCauley fired him. "We're just talking, Vlad. I thought you wanted us to be nice to the breathers?" He stepped back out of the door, apparently intending to pick up his conversation with Becky – and then Vlad completely took leave of his senses.

* * *

Becky watched in shock as Vlad sped out of the classroom, slamming Bertrand up against a locker on the other side of the corridor, and snogged him. That was the only appropriate word for it, really. Bertrand froze for a few moments before pushing Vlad away, scolding him about being inappropriate, and she was relieved for a moment; of course Bertrand didn't have feelings for Vlad -if he was going to go for a student, it would be Becky herself who tempted him from the path of educational righteousness.

Bertrand said something about talking to Vlad's father and began marching him down the corridor, Vlad looking terrified at the prospect of facing his dad's wrath. Becky was sniggering behind her hand as they passed her, when Bertrand suddenly lowered his voice to a level that was clearly meant for only Vlad to hear. She barely caught the words herself.  
"Really, Vlad, in a corridor? There's a time and a place for this sort of thing." Then they were out of sight, and Erin pulled a sympathetic face at her.  
"Saw that coming, to be honest."


	14. Allegiance

**I just got Ingrid's line stuck in my head, so that's what prompted this. It's been ticking over in my head for days but as usual it was written in kind of a hurry so if it's awful, that's why. Enjoy anyway.**

**Disclaimer: Nothing in this is mine.**

"You need to form allegiances if you want to last more than a few minutes as Grand High Vampire." Bertrand warned him over dinner one night, "Have you given it any thought?" Vlad frowned; it had been a difficult enough day without adding to his workload.  
"More allies? Are you sure I need to… what?" The Count had raised an eyebrow and Ingrid was openly sniggering. It was his sister, in the end, who stuck the stake in.  
"_More_ allies? That's rich." She waited for him to understand her meaning, but he just looked more confused. "You don't have allies, _Vladimir_… just really lazy enemies." She made a vague sweeping gesture that encompassed the whole family and her brother's face darkened.  
"Fine." He stood, leaving the room in a huff.

He didn't go to his room; since he didn't have any allies in his home, and his enemies apparently couldn't be bothered to strike at him, it didn't really matter if he ruffled a few feathers. So he made his way to the room with the most territorial owner, and began laying into the punch bag as it swung wildly.

It was about five minutes before he realised there'd been someone the other side of the bag for a while, holding it in place as he struck harder and harder. It wasn't difficult to work out who that someone was.  
"What are you doing, Bertrand?" His tutor didn't move, still out of sight behind the punch bag.  
"Standing in my room, holding a bag in place. I could ask you the same question, but it would be just as futile." Vlad heard a distinct grunt of pain as he hit the bag with as much force as he could muster, and allowed himself a small, bitter smirk before he stepped back, turning towards the door. Bertrand's voice stopped him before he could reach it. "I came to see if you were alright."

Vlad turned to face his tutor then, rolling his eyes.  
"And why would you care?" Bertrand looked a little taken aback, but the Chosen One wasn't finished. "You're just a _lazy enemy_, right?"  
"I never said-"  
"But you knew. That's why you told me to form allegiances, you knew none of the people I thought were allies – that I've got no-one on my side, _no-one_." Bertrand had come to stand in front of him, hand on the Chosen One's arm.  
"You've got one ally. You've got _me_." Vlad stared at him for a second, then crumpled into his tutor's arms and let himself be held.

The moment Bertrand actually wrapped his arms around him was the moment he realised he did have someone on his side after all.


	15. Fingers

**"If you think you have someone eating out of your hands, it is a good idea to count your fingers." -Nigerian Proverb**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Vlad waved his latest fanged 'friend' off, smirking, and turned to find himself about to slam straight into Bertrand.  
"Problem?" His tutor had taken to doing this; getting in the way, looking all superior, whenever Vlad saw Aurelia. It was getting on his nerves.  
"You're letting her get too close. How can you trust her? You hardly know the girl." The Chosen One almost laughed out loud; that was what this was about?  
"Have you seen her, Bertrand? I've got her eating out of the palm of my hand!"  
"…Then perhaps you should count your fingers."  
"What?" Bertrand frowned.  
"It's an old Nigerian proverb. _If you think you have someone eating out of your hands, it is a good idea to count your fingers_. It served me well in my time there; it might be wise to apply it to yourself." Vlad rolled his eyes; he hated when Bertrand tried to get all mystical and knowing on him.  
"Whatever you say, Bertrand. Look." He wiggled his fingers at his tutor and pushed past, striding down the corridor, smug smile firmly back in place. Bertrand watched him go with a sigh.

* * *

It had all been so predictable, really. Aurelia had wormed her way into Vlad's heart and then, when he failed to become her devoted lapdog in the political arena, had attempted to put a stake in it. He was still reeling from the betrayal; he hadn't even been able to react to the stake. Fortunately for him – unfortunately for Aurelia - Bertrand was quicker off the mark. Just moments ago, he had been standing in front of his throne, looking into her eyes, and now he was watching the grim face of his tutor appear through a clearing cloud of dust. He stumbled backwards, falling into his seat, as his sister ushered the assembled Council members into another room to continue their discussions – and no doubt be sworn to secrecy.

Bertrand alone remained in the room, waiting for Vlad to punish or reward his actions. Neither seemed appropriate. Instead, Vlad eventually heaved a weary sigh.  
"You were right."  
"I'm sorry." For the staking, for being right, for everything – Vlad knew Bertrand was sorry. He had been sorry for a long time now.  
"You always are." He frowned. "I'm a terrible Grand High Vampire." This brought Bertrand forward, stepping over the pile of dust as if it was nothing.  
"You're young, and you're learning. But you're doing very well." Vlad raised an eyebrow, and watched as his tutor dropped to his knees to prove his point. "Not just any vampire would have Bertrand du Fortunesa bowing and scraping before him."

"You still turned me down." Bertrand winced; that was old news, it had been over a year ago.  
"Do we have to get into this again?"  
"Yes, Bertrand, we do. Why do I have to deal with all these traitors trying to get in my coffin when all I want is you?" Kneeling, vulnerable, Bertrand wasn't sure he had the strength to argue anymore. Still, he gave it his best effort.  
"As I told you before, you can – and _must_ – do better than me. It's not befitting-" He fell silent as the Grand High Vampire growled.  
"And it's befitting for me to consort with assorted piles of vacuum-fodder, is it? Bertrand, please. Just tell me how _you_ feel."  
"It doesn't matter how I-" Another growl, and he hurriedly changed tack. "You have my absolute admiration, respect and loyalty. You know I'm devoted to you. To admit to anything more would only make things harder." Vlad understood, he knew, what he wasn't saying. The Chosen One smirked.  
"I've got you eating out of the palm of my hand, haven't I? Should I count my fingers?" Somehow, he managed to say it seductively, like an invitation to his coffin, and Bertrand couldn't resist anymore. He knew he'd regret the momentary lapse of judgement later, but he leant forwards, bowing his head over his ruler's hands.  
"Allow me." He began placing a gentle kiss on each of Vlad's fingers, but before he'd counted four the younger vampire reached down and pulled him up to kiss him properly.

With hindsight, they were lucky Ingrid walked back in alone.


	16. Hero

**Inspired by Nickelback's 'Hero'. That's where the lyrics in italics come from, by the way. Just a little thought that wouldn't go away.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Young Dracula, or the song.**

_And they say that a hero will save us, I'm not gonna stand here and wait…_

Bertrand had never been the damsel-in-distress type. He'd spent four centuries doing his own dirty work, and just because that dirty work revolved around his pursuit of the vampire who'd save their kind, that didn't mean he had to sit around and expect that hero to fix everything.

He had to admit, it would have been nice if he'd tried.

Still, the Chosen One had no time for Bertrand's concerns, and he had no intention of waiting forever. He'd _found_ the boy, now it was time somebody opened the Book. If he had to do that himself, well, he'd only wasted four centuries.

The Book wasn't as he'd expected, and Bertrand felt cheapened by Sethius' disdain.

When the insane vampire was dust and the treaties were made, Bertrand waited after everyone else had been dismissed. Erin had lingered, but the Chosen One had sent her away and beckoned him forwards.

He'd sunk to his knees and, to his shame, confessed everything.

If Vlad had been surprised by Bertrand grovelling before him, it was nothing to what he must feel now that he was telling him he'd tried to be a hero for him, tried so desperately hard to be worthy of his love.

Vlad sank to the floor with him, and kissed him.

_…Now that the world isn't ending, it's love that I'm sending to you  
It isn't the love of a hero, and that's why I fear it won't do._


	17. Soldier, Soldier

**OK so I saw an interview today with Cesare Taurasi (Google his name and 'Fandom Wanderers' I think was the name of the magazine, if you're interested) and this came into my head... Kinda spun off from a series of similar thoughts I've been having for ages about the whole 'Bertrand made a real pig of himself' at battles thing, and... how that would actually work.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Young Dracula.**

Bertrand du Fortunesa stood, proud and tall, in the ranks. His new uniform was spotless; he was the first in his family to fight for France, and it felt like finally being accepted into his own nationality at last. All the children he'd grown up with, the ones who'd mocked his Italian heritage even though he and his parents had been born in France just as they had, were nothing but distant memories now. Nobody could argue that he was anything other than a proud French soldier.

Battle, when it came, was a shock; he had expected the noise and the death and the blood, but he hadn't expected it to be so… intense. So personal, so menacing, yet so distant and detached. And he certainly hadn't expected to see soldiers pausing in the half-light of the pre-dawn attack, swooping down upon wounded comrades and enemies alike. To heal or to hurt, he could not tell, but he wouldn't be stopping. He had to fight, he had to survive, and he had to make his family proud and his name great.

He was so distracted by a nearby figure who'd stopped in just such a fashion, and was kicking a corpse in what appeared to be frustration or disgust, that he lost track of the battle entirely for a moment. The one moment it took for a blade to be thrust into his chest.

Time seemed to slow – the pain didn't even register at first, as he swung his own weapon at his assailant. He thought they fell, but that was when he glanced down and saw the bright poppy red blooming across his uniform jacket. The man who'd attacked him hadn't found his heart, but he could feel himself struggling to breathe as he sank to his knees on the battlefield, and it was with some relief that he saw another figure dressed in his own colours making his way towards him.  
"Thank God, I need-" His plea for help died in his throat as the other man revealed his bright white fangs. Then they plunged into his neck, and Bertrand died too.


	18. Triangle

**Kind of a tease/test run for an upcoming story. Slash, hints of polyamory. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

Robin and Vlad had convinced Bertrand to join them for a movie night in front of the TV they'd smuggled out of the library for the duration of the summer holidays. It had taken a lot of persuasion, but he'd reluctantly settled onto the sofa as directed, surprised when the boys chose to flank him like bookends rather than sitting together. He sat bolt upright and waited for one of them to realise they'd have to get up and sort the film out. There was a brief argument about who should do it before Vlad wearily stood; he'd do anything for Robin, that much was clear.

"Wait, shouldn't we wait for Erin and Ingrid?" He felt flattered to have been included in this occasion clearly meant for the enjoyment of the younger members of the household, but it seemed bizarre to start without almost half their number.  
"They went out, there's some new chick flick on at the cinema in town." Robin sighed happily. "Ingrid's gonna hate it, but Erin didn't exactly tell her what she wanted to see." Vlad straightened up from fiddling with the DVD player with a nod.  
"Yeah, the poster's _pink_, she's gonna be furious."  
"So… why aren't you two making the most of the girl-free time?" He'd thought they would have jumped at the chance for a date night without Ingrid making sarcastic comments every time they so much as looked at each other.  
"We are." OK, that was creepy, they were talking in unison now. He decided to just shut up and watch the film.

By the end of the first film, Vlad had shuffled closer to his tutor and was practically leaning on him. Robin switched the DVDs over and when he returned, he actually had the audacity to rest his head on Bertrand's shoulder. There was definitely something weird going on; he thought perhaps it was some kind of joke, a game of Chicken to see if he'd make his excuses and leave. Well, if they wanted to play games, he would win. It was a struggle, though, when Vlad reached across to take Robin's hand, leaving them linked across Bertrand's lap. Bertrand sat still, trying not to betray the tension he felt, as Vlad dropped his head onto Bertrand's other shoulder and sighed contentedly.

By the end of the second film's credits, Bertrand realised that his young companions had been asleep for a while. Their hands were still linked in his lap – Bertrand tried not to think about that – and Robin had shifted a little in his sleep so that his leg was wrapped around the older vampire's. He couldn't move; he still wasn't sure what was going on, but the Chosen One had been suffering from disturbed sleep lately and he wasn't going to risk waking him with his attempts to escape. He closed his eyes against the glare of the DVD player's screensaver, and drifted off into his own uneasy slumber.

* * *

Ingrid poked her head around the door of Vlad's room and beckoned for Erin to take a peek.  
"They got what they wanted, then," the slayer commented.  
"Seems Bertrand's not as old-fashioned as we all thought." Ingrid smirked. "But who knew they could be so _adorable_?" Erin shrugged.  
"Don't let them hear you say that. Boys and their pride. Come on, let them sleep." Ingrid rolled her eyes.  
"Fine, but you owe me another cinema trip tomorrow."


	19. Or Not At All

**Another Doctor Who inspired fic, based on 'The Angels Take Manhattan'. Some vague spoilers, don't read if you haven't watched. With my sincere apologies to Vlad/Erin shippers and especially to jabifan4eva - this is just what happened in my brain.**

**Disclaimer: Neither Young Dracula nor Doctor Who are mine.**

A single tear ran down Erin's cheek and she brushed it away, aware that Vlad had stopped breathing next to her in an obvious attempt not to sniffle. That had been a heart-breaking episode; more than that, it felt as if somebody had literally ripped her heart out, stamped on it a few times, and then fed it to Zoltan or something.

They both stared at the – now blank – television screen for several minutes, processing what they'd just seen, still half in shock, before Erin spoke.  
"We're not like them, are we?" There was another moment of silence, and then Vlad shook his head, never taking his eyes from the screen.  
"No. We can't be." The reasons stood unspoken between them; they both knew that he would never kill for her, and she would never die for him, and if neither of them would do those things, the things that needed to be done for her to become a vampire, to stay with him forever, they were doomed to grow apart.

Erin looked at him, really studied his profile. Would she be prepared to give up her entire life just to stay with him? She wished she could say yes, or hope that feeling would come with time… but she never would. She could never give up everything for any man, even Vlad.

Vlad glanced across uncomfortably, and she felt his eyes on her neck for a second before he closed his eyes and turned back to the screen once more. He would never bite her. He didn't want her to become a vampire any more than she wanted to become one.

Suddenly, it all seemed so pointless, pretending they felt strongly enough about each other to really count as a couple. They'd barely even kissed, for garlic's sake, they barely even held hands. What they really were, when it boiled down to it, was good friends. Just good friends.

"Is this it, then?" She waited for him to look at her, taking a deep breath. "We break up, go back to being friends?" She could see the regret written across his face as he hesitated before nodding.  
"We were always friends, really." She knew it was true.

The silence hung in the air between them for a few moments more, and then Vlad slowly rose and left the room, head bowed. It was a few minutes before Erin stood, and before she followed him out, she rested a hand on the top of the old television set for a moment, a mark of respect for the recently departed.

_"Goodbye, Ponds."_


	20. You Suck At Love

**Some random one-shot Robrand for you before my internet is killed or seriously maimed. Set somewhere between ****_Unexpected_**** and ****_Expectation_****. Inspired by Simple Plan's 'You Suck At Love' as sent to me by Werepuppy. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"You really can't do it, can you?" Robin was practically spitting his words out; Bertrand had never seen him so upset. Not when Bertrand first drank from him, not when he got a detention for trying to break up a fight that had unexpectedly broken out around Ingrid, not even when Bertrand had found Robin's favourite pair of novelty fangs, compared them to his own, and implied that breathers just couldn't understand the beauty of real fangs. "You're so good at getting people to just fall at your feet, telling them everything they want to hear, and then the moment you get what you want-" His voice trembled, and Bertrand didn't think it had anything to do with amusement at how much he sounded like somebody's grandmother, "-you… you just take off for _days_ and I don't hear a word from you and _fog_, Bertrand, if it was that awful couldn't you have just sai-"

This had gone far enough, Bertrand thought. He grabbed his breather, pushed him up against the nearest wall, and kissed him until Robin began to relax slightly. His hand on the boy's waist slipped slightly and suddenly Robin was slithering away from him, sliding along the wall until he was free to speak again.  
"No! No, don't just… I… you're good at hooking up, Bertrand, I know it's a vampire _thing_, but you _suck_ at love." The vampire was about to retort when that last word sunk in.  
"Love?" Robin coloured immediately, and Bertrand was mesmerised by the tinge of blood in his cheeks, his lowered eyelids as he waited for Bertrand's reaction. "Are we in love, then?" Robin shrugged helplessly.  
"I am. I thought you might be too, but I guess n-" He was cut off by Bertrand's lips on his again.

"Stop guessing, you're an idiot." It felt good to get to finally say it back. "I love you, and I wish someone else could have gone to deal with the Council, but-"  
"But you're the best, yeah, I know." He said it with a hint of a rueful smile, though, and Bertrand knew he'd seen the truth in what they were saying.  
"I was the only one who _could_. I didn't want to leave you like that." He lowered his mouth to Robin's ear and lowered his voice to an almost silent growl. "Let me make it up to you."

It seemed Robin couldn't argue with that.


	21. Substitution

**Just a little slightly-angsty drabbly thing inspired by Starrrz. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

The boy moaned helplessly as Bertrand nibbled at his neck, hands reaching round to clutch at the tutor's back. Bertrand kept his eyes firmly closed as he kissed his way back up to the boy's lips before beginning to unbutton his shirt.

Ryan had stopped asking why Bertrand never looked at him at times like this – he assumed it was something to do with his age, the way he was brought up. He didn't know – couldn't know – the real reason, because Bertrand needed this, needed the release that came from tangling his hands into dark hair and pressing his lips to cold skin. Bertrand needed someone to get on their knees and beg for his attention, to let him use them any way he saw fit. He needed dark hair and pale skin.

If he couldn't have the boy he wanted, Ingrid's half-fang cast-off would have to suffice… for now.


	22. Captivity

**Again, Starrrz's fault. But I really have no idea how this one happened. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Jonno struggled helplessly, but he couldn't seem to force himself to move away. The vampire stood at the centre of the UV cage, watching him, apparently unphased by his captivity. Jonno wasn't even making eye contact with the vampire, so unless they had developed some new powers since the last Guild training day, he was walking towards the bars of his own accord.

The rest of the slayers had gone home for the day. Jonno had been left to watch their prisoner, while their prisoner watched him right back. Now he found himself reaching out, straight through one of the beams of light that kept the tall, dark figure caged, to shake the hand of the vampire they'd brought down while he tried to protect the Chosen One. He'd fought bravely, he'd never stopped, not until he was thrown into the UV cage. Then his features had smoothed out and he'd stood, serene, in the centre, as far from every bar of light as he could get, as if he was waiting for a bus or something.

The vampire looked at him for a moment, then extended his arm to meet Jonno's. As their hands clasped, it was the work of a second to pull Jonno right through the bars and into his arms.  
"They almost dusted Vlad. Are you trying to get me staked?"  
"Just a training exercise, Bertrand, they've gotta give it all they've got or when they do meet their first rebel vampire…"  
"It's a good workout for Vlad, too. But do we really need to hide behind all these excuses?"

Jonno grinned at him.  
"It's a great excuse to get you in a cage." Bertrand showed his fangs for a second, a teasing smile quirking the corners of his mouth up, then leant down to kiss him.  
"Then don't waste the opportunity."

Maybe it didn't mean anything; it never could. But Jonno would put up with that as long as Bertrand kept doing what he was doing. It worked.


	23. Frustration

**So redrachxo wanted to know how on earth 'Captivity' came about. So here's an actual RELATED one-shot; enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

Jonno was trying to get to Vlad, trying to stake the most powerful vampire in existence, but there was something in his way, blocking him at every turn. He didn't know who this vampire was – he was vaguely aware of having seen him before – but he fought like a madman and never left Vlad's side.

Eventually the vampire leader called out to the slayers that they could meet with him like civilised people or fight on their own, and shot off into the night. Jonno threw himself forward with a snarl, in one last desperate attempt to make a slaying – revenge for the biting of an old woman on the streets of Bristol last night, which had made all the vampires fair game once more – but he found his hand twisted behind him, his own stake pressing against his back, and then he was speeding through the night, away from the other slayers, to screech to a halt in a clearing, thrown to the floor by the same vampire who'd been thwarting him for the last few hours.

"What do you want?" He snapped as he scrambled to his feet and grabbed his stake from where it had fallen to the floor. The vampire made no move to stop him.  
"You're the leader of that pathetic lot, are you not?" He suddenly realised where he'd seen him before; he'd been involved in taking down Sethius. He'd been present when the treaty was made.  
"You know I am."  
"And _you_ know the treaty will be back in place tomorrow, and the vampire who broke it will be nothing but dust blowing in the breeze." Jonno regarded him thoughtfully; it was true.  
"What's your point?"

Bertrand frowned.  
"Why are you so keen to stake Vlad?" Jonno shrugged.  
"He's a vampire, I'm a slayer. At least for tonight, that's how it works."  
"You were children together. I thought breathers got sentimental about that kind of thing."  
"Yeah, well, if I'd gone after anyone else I probably would have got them. Bit awkward tomorrow when the treaty gets reinstated." The vampire nodded, half a smirk appearing.  
"Whereas Vlad-"  
"Couldn't even get near him, could I? You kept getting in the way."  
"It's my job."

Jonno walked past the vampire and turned, just to force Bertrand to turn round too. He didn't even seem annoyed, which was irritating. In fact-  
"I hate no-kill missions. You know, not recon and stuff, but fights, where you don't get a kill, it's… really frustrating. D'you get that?"  
"Yes." Bertrand's response was terse and, despite the slight pause beforehand, strangely urgent. Jonno took a moment to really look at him, at the way he stood in the moonlight like a coiled spring. Then he stepped forward and, without even really thinking about it, grabbed the taller man and pulled him into a kiss.

Bertrand barely seemed surprised; after a moment, he grabbed onto Jonno's shirt and sped them across the clearing to back him up against a tree.  
"This doesn't mean anything," he growled harshly, pulling back from the slayer slightly to make sure he was understood, "it's just the frustration." Jonno nodded urgently, hands sliding to Bertrand's hips to pull the vampire's body tighter against his own.  
"Yeah, same. Just the frust-" Another scorching kiss cut him off, and Jonno thought his face would probably be bruised by the end of this little encounter. Bertrand was a ferocious but extremely skilful kisser, it seemed. It quickly became apparent that this was not Bertrand's only talent.

It was some time later that they both finally stepped away from the tree, fastening assorted items of clothing.  
"Right. Well. I'd better get back to HQ." Jonno carefully avoided looking at the vampire as he spoke, ashamed of what had just happened.  
"And I need to get back to Vlad." Something in the way he said that seemed strange to Jonno, but he didn't question it as the vampire spoke again. "Tomorrow night, Garside Grange. To reinstate the treaty." The slayer nodded, then began walking in the vague direction of what he hoped was the way home. Bertrand didn't correct him, so he could only assume he was at least almost right.

He managed to walk a fair way before looking back; when he did, the vampire was gone.


	24. Winning

**Wasn't going to bother posting this little thing but Werepuppy and redrachxo talked me into it. So enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Vlad pinned Bertrand to the wall with a triumphant grin.  
"I did it!" Bertrand smiled back at him.  
"Yes, well done." They'd been working on this for some time now, and it was the first time Vlad had managed to actually immobilise him in a fight. Bertrand struggled not to let his frustration at being beaten show, but he was proud of his student.

Vlad, however, didn't let go as Bertrand had expected. Instead of releasing him, he kept him pinned in position and leant in to claim his lips. Bertrand, too shocked to react, let him, let him nibble gently at his lips, then kiss his way down his neck and back up again, pressing their bodies close together. The tutor tried to speak, but Vlad made an impatient noise against Bertrand's lips and ground his hips slightly, effectively silencing anything Bertrand might have said.

Then, as suddenly as he'd pounced, Vlad stepped back.  
"Good training session. Thanks, Bertrand. See you at dinner." He was gone almost before he'd finished speaking, and Bertrand was left to slide down the wall and sit down with a thump on the floor to try to collect his thoughts.


	25. Losing

**Follow-up to 'Winning'. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Bertrand was losing this battle, but he was determined not to give in. He let Vlad back him towards a wall, then spun them at the last moment, flipping their positions and holding Vlad in place. Vlad didn't seem too perturbed by this, until Bertrand ducked his head, lips perilously close to the Chosen One's neck, and stopped there for a moment.

"You… you know that's treason?" Vlad seemed to have difficulty getting the words out.  
"Only if you feel threatened." Bertrand practically purred the words, shifting slightly so that his body was flush against the wall next to Vlad, tantalisingly close but impossible to reach. "Do you?"  
"No." Vlad barely managed to pronounce the word before succumbing to the involuntary moan that followed. "I want it."  
"Want what?" Bertrand smirked; he was enjoying himself far too much.  
"You. I want you, Bertrand. You." Vlad squirmed, trying to get close enough to touch his tutor, but the older vampire merely chuckled.  
"Do you, now? How interesting." He leant in, just a fraction of an inch, lips almost touching Vlad's pale throat, and the boy shivered in anticipation.

He let go abruptly and stalked out without a word. Vlad clutched at the wall and wondered why he'd ever started this game with Bertrand in the first place as a thought brushed against his mind.  
_Good session. I'll see you at dinner._


	26. Keep In Touch

**__****A propos of nothing, have a random short fic about how Vlad could have kept in touch. Slash. Enjoy!**

**__****Disclaimer: Not mine. Not mine at all.**

* * *

**_Robin Branagh_**_ is finally getting out of Stokely! Garside College of Arts, here I come!_

Vlad stared at the page for a moment, hardly daring to believe it. He'd been doing his usual check on his old friend – not because he was some kind of stalker or anything, just because Robin had been the subject of a mind wipe and it was only responsible to check up on him now and again, and if he couldn't work out how to lock his Likepoke down to friends-only how could he hope to defend himself against vampires – and found a status update that had shifted his world just off-kilter.

"Ingrid," he began, once he'd tracked her down, "I need some ad… well… Robin's coming to Garside." His sister sat up with a triumphant smirk.  
"I knew it! I knew you were still secretly in contact. Secret love notes, a forbidden romance, how utterly _romantic_ and _pathetic_."  
"What? No, I just saw it on Likepoke. But… well, what if I run into him in town or something?"  
"As if you don't want to." The Chosen One couldn't argue with that. "I don't know, flowers, chocolates, hypnotism? Why are you asking _me_ for help?" Vlad glared at her for a moment.  
"I really don't know."

* * *

Robin arrived in Liverpool with a suitcase full of clothes, a map, a set of keys, and a pair of fake fangs ("In case there's a fancy dress thing in Freshers' Week", he'd told his mum, even though college didn't _have_ Freshers' Week). The trip from the station to town – to buy the toothbrush he'd already realised he'd forgotten to bring – was pretty straightforward, but finding his residence was proving more challenging. He was shuffling along in a busy crowd just after dusk, eyes firmly on his map, when he heard a familiar voice somewhere behind him.

"No, Erin, I really don't want to- oh, _fine_, but only because-" Robin turned, seeking the source of the voice, but the face he was hoping to see was nowhere to be found. He shrugged and carried on towards his new flat… wait… He squinted at the map. _Oh, blast._ He turned around and made his way back the way he'd come.

* * *

"Oh, _fine_, but only because if you drag Ingrid into Claire's Accessories of all places, she really will bite someone. Since when is Jonno worth all this fuss anyway?" Erin raised an eyebrow, dragging him past a stand of… well, Vlad didn't know what they were but they looked like they were intended for use with your hair in some way.  
"Anyone would think you were jealous."  
"Well, most people probably wouldn't drag their ex out to buy a new outfit to impress their new boyfriend, but… Wait, Erin, you're a girl. How do you get a guy to like you?"  
"Why so interested?" She grinned at him. "Finally going to make a move on Bertrand?"  
"What? No! Look, um… Remember I told you about my best friend?"  
"Yeah, um… Robin?" Vlad's heart almost kick-started as a pale, dark-haired boy turned from the counter at the sound of the name.

* * *

Robin had accepted that he was lost and ducked into the nearest open shop – Claire's. Great. Oh well, at least maybe while he was here he could get something for Chloe's birthday in a few weeks.  
"Excuse me, mate, do you know the way to-"  
"Yeah, um… Robin?" He turned from the counter towards the unfamiliar voice, but it wasn't the blonde girl who'd spoken who caught his eye. Next to her, staring at him in something akin to horror, was a familiar face, albeit a few years older.  
"Vlad?"

Ten minutes later, he and Vlad were sitting awkwardly across a table at Costa's. The girl – Erin – had come with them and got a coffee before suddenly remembering she had something really important to do. Vlad had barely said a word as she made her excuses and disappeared. Now, as the steam from the coffees drifted up between them, he leant over his cup urgently.  
"How much did you hear?" Robin blinked.  
"Just my name. Don't you mean _how much do I remember_?" Vlad frowned at him and then his mouth fell open with a little 'oh'.  
"How much _do_ you remem-?"  
"Vlad, mate, you're sitting in front of a mirror. If Chloe was here she'd be on the floor by now. You've got some explaining to do."

* * *

"And you couldn't have just called? I could have been dead." Robin was staring at him as if he was mad. "_You _could have been dead, for all I knew. You just – one moment we were trying to keep things quiet from my parents and the next minute you were gone."  
"I knew you weren't dead, your Likepoke-"  
"You found me on Likepoke? And you couldn't have at least _poked_ me?" Vlad cringed.  
"Look, I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd want-"  
"I was completely in love with you!" Robin's raised voice caught the attention of everyone else in the café, but Vlad didn't care. He was too busy trying to get his head round what Robin was saying. Robin, however, lowered his voice and continued almost guiltily. "Still am, really."

Vlad reached across the table and covered Robin's hand with his own, making him look up in surprise.  
"I never forgot you, Robin." He stood, grabbing his leather jacket from the back of the chair. "Come on, let's find your flat."

* * *

Somehow, by the time they'd located Robin's new street, Vlad had his suitcase, leaving Robin with the map, and their free hands had become tangled between them until, to a casual observer, it would look as if they were holding hands.

Robin let go and found his keys, swung the door open – it was a tiny studio flat, but it was better than most students could hope for and it was all his, thanks in large part to the death of a distant relative – and stepped over the threshold. He'd wandered around most of the room, taking it all in, before he realised Vlad was still at the door.  
"Come in, Vlad."

Vlad did, and stood awkwardly inside the doorway rather than outside. Robin shrugged.  
"Got a sofa. Want to try it out?" The vampire perched obediently on the edge of it and Robin laughed, coming to join him. "You're adorable."  
"I'm the Grand High Vampire!"  
"Yeah, and it's _cute_." He ran a hand cautiously down the side of Vlad's face, marvelling at the cool smoothness of his skin. Vlad shivered and Robin pulled his hand back slightly. "Is this OK?"  
"Yeah." Vlad grabbed at his hand, replacing it firmly. "Blood, I've missed you."

The vampiric curse was enough to erase years of missed opportunities; Robin didn't even think before pressing their lips together and slowly pushing Vlad down onto his back on the sofa. Vlad didn't seem to be doing much thinking either as he kissed him back hungrily.

* * *

Hours later, Erin was scrolling through Likepoke in the IT lab – anything to avoid the Count's anxious fretting over the whereabouts of his son – when she spotted a string of updates that made her smile.

**_Vlad Count _**_is now friends with __**Robin Branagh.  
Vlad Count **__is now __**in a relationship **__with __**Robin Branagh.**_


	27. Just the Way You Are

**Random little het one-shot. Loosely inspired by Bruno Mars' 'Just the Way You Are'. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"I'm still posing as Vlad's girlfriend so he's got an excuse to not let the Count set him up with someone _worthy and connected_… Ingrid keeps talking about how I'm going to have to let him bite me eventually if we're going to be together, and I'm worried. I mean, what if he decides he still needs me as cover? What if he actually wants me to change?"

Jonno tossed a small stone across the empty car park, watching it bounce a few times before coming to a halt, and turned to Erin.  
"Then he's mad. You're amazing just the way you are." She blinked at him for a moment, then burst out laughing.  
"Did you just quote Bruno Mars at me?" He grimaced; he hadn't made the connection. He _knew_ those words sounded too natural together to be spontaneous.  
"Um, maybe? Totally dorky, I know." She snuggled closer, looping her arm through his, and rested her head on his shoulder.  
"Only in all the best ways."

It seemed only natural to kiss her, then, under the stars and far from prying eyes. She kissed him back, to his surprise and delight, and then they sat for a few moments, just cuddled together staring out at the night.  
"C'mon. I'll walk you home." She grinned then, teasing.  
"Wouldn't want the vampires to get me." He laughed, kissing her on the forehead, still hardly believing she was letting him.  
"Yeah, still. I'll walk you home."


	28. Puritan

**Just a little drabbley thing that I started writing because I should be working... and then I broke my own heart a little bit but that is neither here nor there. Slash. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Nothing herein is mine except Eliseo Mondadori aka Mori, who also appears in my story 'Contacts'.**

Bertrand had despised England in the Puritan years.

Mori had laughed at him for that – _I thought you'd be right at home with people who disapprove of fun –_ but it was true. Bertrand was very work-focused, yes, and he was wholly devoted to his pursuit of the Chosen One to the exclusion of frivolous things like parties and womanising, but that didn't mean he wanted _everyone_ to be like it. Maybe he'd been shallow, back then – he had been very young, after all – but he'd quite enjoyed being known as 'that solemn, dedicated chap, you know the one – with the book' among other vampires. Then suddenly everyone had been solemn and boring, at least outwardly, and Bertrand had been just one of the crowd. He'd done what most vampires were doing at the time and disappeared back to France.

Still, now, hundreds of years later, he wondered if that hadn't been better than being surrounded by the rampant hedonism of the 21st century. Back then, England had been almost distraction-free; he'd got on with his work and his training, drained a few peasants when he got hungry, and got straight back to work with nothing to tempt him from his dedicated lifestyle. Now, the whole world seemed determined to tell him that that was wrong, unnatural even, and that he should be pursuing happiness, fun, and _love_.

It was love that seemed to make the world go round, these days; the cinemas were full of sappy romances, something as simple as getting on a bus was expected to be a potential meeting-place for soulmates, and even the students of Garside Grange were constantly falling in and out of relationships. It was as if everyone but Bertrand was determined to be a sentimental fool.

Now Bertrand feared the trend had got to him, too. What would Mori have said about that? _Love? Vampires don't love, Fori. That's what you've got me for. _But he suspected the other vampire had known, had guessed even before Bertrand did that he was indeed falling for the very Chosen One he'd worked so tirelessly to find. He could admit it, to himself – he was beginning to understand what the breathers got so excited about when they spoke of love, when they clutched at each other in darkened corners. If only he knew what to do about it. In Puritan England, it would have been simple; ignore it until it went away.

It wouldn't go away. How fortunate, then, that the Puritans were no longer in charge around here. He'd despised them.


	29. Puppy Love

**Apparently I ship ****all**** the things. But nah, this isn't so much a ship as something that slipped into my head and wouldn't unwrite itself. It's just a crush! One-sided slash. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Bertrand was beautiful, a beautiful rush of curls and fists and fangs executing a deadly dance, alone in the training room – only not alone. Bertrand feinted left and darted right, appearing on the other side of the punchbag before the inanimate object could know what hit it – and hit it he did, repeatedly, before reaching back for his stick.

Ah, the stick. The things Bertrand could do with that stick – he could make it sing as it swept through the air, he could stop your thoughts with it. He could stop your heartbeat, if you had one and he felt like it. For now, though, he simply swung it in graceful arcs around himself, powerful muscles guiding the wood until it was impossible to tell where the vampire ended and the weapon began.

It was inappropriate, he knew – his family would be appalled if they knew how much time he spent hiding down here, just watching Bertrand train. They certainly wouldn't approve of the adjectives he used to describe the tutor in his head. They'd scold him for his shameful crush on the older man, and he would be embarrassed.

But he could wait. Bertrand wasn't getting any older, after all – at least, not physically.

And Wolfie was.


	30. Error

**I have no excuses for this one. Partly inspired by ****_Young Dracula Files_**** and a subsequent conversation I had with Werepuppy. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

"I hate all this heir-to-the-Dracula-throne stuff. As if I didn't have enough to do being the Chosen One… sometimes I really wish I'd just been born a girl." Bertrand rolled his eyes.  
"Yeah, well, so do I. Now _concentrate._" Vlad straightened up on his throne, the book in his lap forgotten, and Bertrand realised that he might, for the first time in nearly four centuries, have made a major tactical error.  
"Why would you wish that?" He looked hurt, and Bertrand could practically see the cogs turning in his student's head. He was biting his lip in a decidedly distracting way, and Bertrand took a moment to appreciate the gesture.

He took another moment – while Vlad was jumping to all the predictable wrong conclusions – to thank whatever fates ruled his existence for the Chosen One's complete inability to hide his interest in Bertrand. If he hadn't been sure Vlad was completely besotted with him, he might have felt bad about ogling him this way.  
"Because then you'd be teaching Ingrid this stuff instead, and she's better?" Bertrand rolled his eyes and Vlad took another guess. "Because… then you could just manipulate me and the vampire world would look to you or Dad for all the actual decisions anyway?" Bertrand shook his head; a good point, but no. He paused for a second, making sure Vlad had indeed given up – and noting with a quiet sigh that he had also put the book down, evidently having given up on that, too – before making another major tactical error.

This time, at least, it was deliberate; he approached the throne, almost touching it, leaning in until his face and Vlad's were almost touching.  
"Because _blood_, Vlad, if you were a girl I would have bent you over that throne a long time ago," he growled, and watched as his words sank in. The Chosen One shivered involuntarily, and then… his face fell abruptly and Bertrand began to panic. Had he really misread the situation so badly? He was already racing through possible ways he could talk his way out of this when Vlad's voice reached his ears, barely audible.

"You do prefer girls, then. Ingrid owes me a tenner." Bertrand growled again, out of frustration this time, and then he made a third grave tactical error. He forcibly pulled the new Grand High Vampire out of his throne, wrapped his arms around him, and kissed him. By the time he pulled away, there could be no doubt in anyone's mind that Vlad owed his sister some money. Vlad didn't seem to care.


	31. Chemistry

**Crack!fic, spun off from a discussion Werepuppy and I were having about an AU.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

There was a loud bang as the door slammed open and Vlad's hand slipped, spilling the warm potion all over himself as he turned to face the newcomer, letting out a sigh of relief as he realised who it was.

"Bertrand, thank goodness, I thought you were Renfield."  
"Leaving aside how insulting that is, what are you doing?" Vlad shrugged, absentmindedly licking a drop off of his finger.  
"Experimenting. How often does Renfield leave his alchemy stuff all set up and inviting like this? It's not a big deal, I'm not taking any risks."

But Bertrand was staring at him as if he'd grown an extra head, and he was pretty sure he hadn't, although there was a strange weight on his chest and the tingling sensation he got whenever he looked at his tutor had shifted slightly.  
"Vlad… you're aware that you've just grown breasts, right?" He looked down at himself in horror.  
"Oh _bats._"


	32. Comfort

**I'm having all the feels recently, so here's a drabble.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Ingrid woke in the middle of the night to the reassuring feeling of cold arms around her.  
"Will," she whispered, half-asleep but aware that something wasn't quite right.  
"No, Ingrid," Bertrand's voice came from behind her, "I'm sorry." She shook her head, trying not to seem weak.  
"No, of course not." And then, moments later, "You'll stay?"  
"Yes." His arms tightened around her slightly in a gesture which, from anyone else, would probably be a hug. "I'll be here. Go back to sleep."

She let him hold her, trying not to think about the way she'd broken down at the sight of a pile of dust the previous evening and only a promise that she wouldn't be left alone could convince her to crawl into her coffin, Bertrand settling wordlessly beside her in the cramped space and offering her the simple comfort she needed.  
"When my brother comes to his senses, he'll be a lucky guy," she murmured, drifting back into slumber already. "Night Bertrand." He smiled sadly.  
"Goodnight, Ingrid."


	33. Penance

**YOUNG DRACULA TONIGHT WHO'S EXCITED?**

**Ahem. That aside, I thought I'd better get this little theory up before canon happened. The first three paragraphs are genuine thinking-about-stuff on my part, after that it becomes a bit of silliness really.**

**SPOILERS FOR YOUNG DRACULA 4 IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE YOUNG DRACULA FILES, SPOILERS FOR YOUNG DRACULA FILES. You were warned.**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

Vlad looked up from his book and froze.  
"Bertrand?" The older vampire stopped his pacing and turned to face him.  
"Is something the matter, Vlad?" His student was staring, aghast, at his neck, or rather at what was hanging around it.  
"That… is that _Sethius' finger_?" A slight frown creased his tutor's features.  
"I certainly hope so."

Vlad was confused by how calmly Bertrand was speaking, as if it was perfectly natural to hang a piece of insane vampire from your neck. Was it the last piece of a long-treasured possession, or a trophy taken from a vanquished foe? Worse, was it some kind of powerful relic Bertrand would use against him later?  
"Why… Is it a status thing? To… prove you were the Book's guardian or something?" Bertrand shook his head.  
"Penance."

Vlad stared at him for a few more seconds, waiting for his tutor to elaborate. The older vampire's frown deepened – perhaps he was disappointed that Vlad hadn't just understood – and he shrugged awkwardly.  
"To remind me, and you, and everyone who sees it, what I've done. That I can't be trusted."

Vlad stood and reached out to put a hand on Bertrand's shoulder, squeezing in reassurance.  
"I trust you." Bertrand shot him a look that clearly said _that-is-exactly-my-point_, but the Chosen One ignored it. "Still, if you're going to be all emo about it, at least it's better than having 'before you stands a traitor' tattooed somewhere obvious. _Don't_ get any ideas."

Bertrand shook his head, relieved that the boy still didn't seem to hate him, and hoped the boy would never notice the miniscule words carved into the bone.  
_Before you stands a traitor bearing the bones of a madman_, however painstakingly translated into Latin or delicately engraved, was unlikely to impress Vlad any more than the tattoo idea.

He would keep that part of his penance to himself.


	34. Hallowe'en

**I don't even know but I don't have time to edit this. Dashing out for Hallowe'en! Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"I don't understand, what are you so excited about?" Vlad looked at him as if he was stupid, and Bertrand wondered what exactly he was missing. He took in the scene before him, searching for clues.

Vlad and Ingrid were in their best traditional vampire dress, which would usually have Vlad _sulking_ rather than bouncing on the balls of his feet like a child, and Erin appeared to have raided Ingrid's wardrobe. He supposed that could have been enough to make Vlad happy, but it didn't seem that he was interested in the slayer's uncharacteristically revealing getup. He gave up. He didn't understand.

"It's Hallowe'en, Bertrand! We're going drinking, come with us." He frowned, about to refuse, but Vlad leant in to whisper in his ear. "I need someone to help me make sure nobody bothers the girls." Bertrand sighed.  
"I suppose you'll want me in a cloak?"  
"He'd want you in anything," Ingrid muttered, but since everyone else seemed to be pretending not to hear her Bertrand decided to follow suit. At any rate, Vlad was speaking.  
"Yeah, or you could go as a soldier. Wear your uniform, or something." It seemed easier not to argue with the Chosen One.

* * *

Later that night, Ingrid surveyed the bar with an icy stare. The talent here was seriously lacking; she was constantly pushing away ugly zombies and pirates with foul breath, and Erin was faring equally badly nearby. Ingrid stood with a glare at the soldier and vampire making out in a corner of the bar; she was glad they'd got their acts together but couldn't they see these peasants crowding her?

She took three steps forward and swept Erin into a kiss. The boys watched for longer than was strictly polite before melting disappointedly back into the crowds. Erin smiled hesitantly as Ingrid pulled away, and she decided not to bother pretending anymore.  
"Yeah. Deal with it." Erin's smile grew and she pulled the vampires back in.


	35. Foodie

**I wasn't sure whether to post this but Werepuppy Black and redrachxo seemed pretty keen that I should so here it is. Partially inspired by my own dinner-making craziness earlier.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"Bertrand," Vlad murmured sleepily from the kitchen doorway, "do you want to tell me what the hell you're doing?"

His tutor froze, looking as if he'd been caught doing something shameful. Vlad took a moment to take in the sound of birdsong in the distance, the stillness of the school around them in the early morning, and the bizarre array of pots and pans laid out in front of his tutor. They were in the school kitchens, which was just as well given how much _food_ Bertrand seemed to have produced from nowhere; several different ovens had bubbling pans on top of them and he could tell from here that there were at least three with dishes _inside_.  
"…Cooking," his tutor admitted at last.  
"Breather food?" Bertrand hung his head. Vlad considered this for a moment, but there was really only one question he could ask. "_Why?" _One of the pots on the hob began to boil over and suddenly Bertrand was nothing but a stream of energy flying from one oven to another, rescuing dishes left, right and centre.

A few minutes later, Vlad had helped him pack most of the mountains of food into portable containers, and they were both sat at one of the countertops, waiting for their plates of curry-and-noodles to cool.  
"You know curry's not usually served with noodles, right?" Bertrand's eyes lit up and a tiny smile curved at the corners of his lips.  
"Exactly! They're from different parts of the world. You have no idea how exciting that is, how lucky you are… You can eat the traditional dishes of any country you like with anything _else_ you like, right here in your own home. Don't you see how exciting that is?" Vlad stared at him as he started to eat his bizarre dish, beginning at last to understand.  
"Then… why now, this morning?" Bertrand looked at him like it was obvious.  
"Nobody's awake to laugh at me for it." He paused. "And last night it was dark before the supermarket closed."


	36. Sassy

**Inspired by the Young Dracula Files, aka Sassy Bertrand's Burn Book.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Bertrand's pen moved across the page with a flourish, occasionally detouring via the inkwell as the vampire committed his thoughts to paper.

He'd been reluctant, at first, to record his personal opinions in such a permanent way, but Vlad had insisted. It seemed the slayer girl had told him about some TV show in which a 'Chosen Slayer' – the thought was preposterous; what did slayers know of destiny? – was guided by an older, wiser mentor, who kept some sort of 'Watcher's Diary' to help future generations to guide their own slayers. Bertrand hadn't really taken in much of the explanation, but the upshot of it was that he was recording Vlad's unlife, his own experiences with the Draculas… everything he could think of. Vlad had promised that the resulting tome would be locked away, and nobody would see it until – _unless, _Bertrand had corrected him - Vlad himself was dust.

It was rather dull, filling in all this information when he could have been training the Chosen One, but he stuck at it. Fortunately, Vlad's promise of confidentiality meant that he was quite at his liberty to find ways of making it interesting. Stopping to play noughts-and-crosses with himself would be both boring and a waste of time, not to mention a blemish on the book… but there was no reason he couldn't be a little more… _honest_… with his opinions than he usually would be.

He pulled out Vlad's notebook to check a couple of facts about Vlad's existence _before_ he'd met the boy, dipped his pen, and began to write.  
_As revealed in Vlad's not-so-secret notebook…_


	37. Difficult

**For redrachxo and Werepuppy Black, who both requested some Vlerty in their own unique ways. Written really quickly so I apologise. SLASH.**

**Disclaimer: None o' this is mine.**

Vlad didn't even bother closing the door to his room behind him; he knew the next person to walk in would do it anyway, and he doubted there was any stopping them. He rested his forehead against the wall, wondering why everything seemed so difficult. Malik was determined to stir up trouble, he still hadn't found the courage to break up with Erin, and he didn't like how close his father and Ramanga were becoming. It felt as if he was walking a tightrope over broken glass; one wrong move and he'd be torn to pieces.

The door clicked shut behind him; he didn't even bother to turn.  
"Bertrand, I need to be alone."  
"Is that really what you want?" He sighed; as usual, his tutor had seen right through him. He spun to face the older vampire.  
"No, I just… why does it have to be so difficult?"  
"You're a great leader. Your challenges are great, but so are your strengths." Vlad stared at him for a moment.  
"That's cheesier than some of the stuff _I_ say." Bertrand merely raised an eyebrow.  
"Thanks, I try. But I think I'll have to work a lot harder if I'm to beat _revamp_."

The Chosen One groaned and let himself slump against Bertrand's chest, arms coming up to wrap themselves around Bertrand.  
"I'm just so… there's so much adrenaline going through me right now and there's nothing I can do, it's just useless energy."  
"Perhaps we should-" He was right. Vlad kissed him. No, that was an understatement, Vlad knew; he threw himself at his tutor, pushed him up against the door, and positively reduced him to goo. Somewhere in the teeth on flesh, the lips locking, the tongues tangling, he felt the heavy weight of his responsibilities begin to lift off of his shoulders.

When he pulled back, Bertrand blinked at him.  
"Well, I was going to say _train_, but-" He pulled Vlad back towards him as they both stumbled towards Vlad's coffin, and Vlad decided this was _definitely _the best way of burning off pent-up energy he'd ever tried.


	38. One Less

**Set prior to, but in the same universe as, my story 'Contacts'. Partly inspired by the 'One Less Bell to Answer/A House Is Not a Home' mashup from Glee. Oh, I know, I know. But still. Featuring a little Fortadori (shh, totally a good ship name) and hints of Vlerty, as redrachxo insists on calling it. So... slashy undertones.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine!**

Bertrand sank wearily into a swivel chair and opened his inbox to find an email waiting for him from none other than his oldest friend, Eliseo Mondadori.

* * *

_B,_

_What do you mean, 'gone'? That's good news, though, about the Book. Lack of writing might be a minor setback but you're the master of minor setbacks._

_M._

* * *

_M,_

_Gone. Taken off, disappeared, nobody's seen him in days, I've searched what feels like half the country and now all any of us can do is wait and hope he comes back._

_B._

* * *

_B,_

_Well, you've done your job. If he's taken off, surely that just means you're free? One less person to skivvy for, anyway. Maybe you should pop over to Vienna for a little while, take your mind off things._

_M._

* * *

_It's not that simple. It's not as if the Chosen One disappears and I can just do what I like. He's not ready yet, Mori, and I have to be here to make sure he can continue his training as soon as he gets back._

_B._

* * *

_Fori, you're not making any sense. The boy's gone, and awakened to his full potential for evil, from what you've said. Come to Vienna, relax, forget him. I'm sure he'll call if he needs you._

_M._

* * *

_I can't sleep, Mori, I can't eat… Every time some foolish breather bumps against the door to our quarters, I half jump out of my seat, thinking it's him. The half-fang girl would be laughing at me, except that she's doing the same thing. I need to be here when he gets home._

_B._

* * *

Mori's next reply didn't arrive until the next night. Bertrand had spent the rest of the night in the IT lab, checking and rechecking his emails, even looking at his 'Sent Items' folder to ensure the message had indeed been launched into the internet.

Vlad had been gone for five whole days, and the strain was beginning to take its toll on the boy's household. Bertrand had stumbled through a class he'd hand to stand in for Jim Grant in, barely aware of what he was doing as the class cowered under his stern gaze.

He returned to the IT room that night and logged on, relieved to find a message.

* * *

_Well, then, I suppose you'd better stay where you are for now. Vienna will still be here in a few centuries, after all._

_M._

* * *

_Have I upset you, Mori?_

_B._

* * *

_Not at all, Bertrand, my friend. No, but if I may offer some advice… consider your behaviour in relation to the girl's. Consider why she acts as she does. They are close, the Chosen One and the half-fang, are they not?_

_M._

* * *

_M,_

_You're right, as always. She must be up to something._

_B._

* * *

_…Yes. That's exactly what I meant. Well done._

_M._

* * *

He'd meant to reply, really he had, as soon as he could think of a response to the email – an unsettlingly sparse communication from his usually loquacious friend – but then Vlad had returned, apparently none the worse for his little adventure, and in all the chaos that had followed it had slipped his mind. In the end, the next email he sent wasn't one he'd expected to be sending at all.

* * *

_There's a problem here – I'll add the address at the bottom of this email – I need some of you to come and back me up. We're going to open the book ourselves; the Chosen One's going to get himself slain if we don't, not to mention the rest of the vampire race.  
No need to reply, just come at nightfall. Be prepared for a little dust._

_B._

* * *

He added the address, read it over one more time, and pressed send.


	39. Hold the Fort

**Just a quick little thing. Slash. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"Bertrand, a word?" He merely gestured for the Chosen One to step inside, surprised when Vlad didn't collapse into the chair by the door as he had on previous visits to his tutor's room. Instead, he closed the door behind him and stood there, regarding Bertrand thoughtfully before beginning on what he needed to say.

"The Council have told me I need to go away for a week or so. Something about finding a more suitable residence for when I officially take up my title, and checking that my clan and household can function without me." Bertrand raised an eyebrow, and Vlad nodded. "Exactly. I expect they plan to try something sneaky. I need you to make sure nothing bad happens to my family. I'll be gone two weeks at most, but I need you to hold the fort."  
"What about your safet-?"  
"They're going to go after the people I care about, first. Not me. Can you do that for me, Bertrand?"  
"Surely your father, or Ingrid-"  
"I don't know whose side they're on today, Bertrand, and I don't have time to find out. I have to leave at nightfall. With Malik and the street fangs around… I need someone I can trust."

"And you trust me?" Vlad rolled his eyes as if he didn't see why that was confusing, threw his arms around his tutor's neck, and pulled him down into a kiss that lasted _almost_ long enough for Bertrand to work out what was happening. When he pulled back, the Chosen One looked a little sheepish.  
"Sorry, terrible timing. Hope that's OK. Anyway, just… look after things for me and we'll talk when I'm back, yeah?" Then he was gone, leaving Bertrand with a tingling sensation in his lips and a sinking feeling that he might have just dreamt the entire conversation.

* * *

It took the Council ten days to spring their little surprise, and Bertrand had been hard-pressed to prevent utter chaos given that the Count had clearly been involved in at least part of the plan. Still, the street fangs were back in the Revamp Room, the Council's sub-standard assassins had been easily despatched, and a message had been sent to Vlad informing him of the situation. Bertrand was sure that he'd be back in no time, and how could the Chosen One be anything but proud of the way he'd handled things? Of course, Vlad himself would have to deal with Ramanga, the obvious culprit, but at least his tutor had managed to conceal his father's involvement enough to spare him the obligation of invoking death by dawn.

Days passed, however, and Vlad did not return. In fact, it wasn't until a full fourteen days had passed that Vlad dropped out of the sky, looking weary. Bertrand decided, there and then, that official business could wait until tomorrow – he simply took Vlad's case and followed him up towards his coffin room. As he set the case down, however, Vlad suddenly spoke.  
"Did you miss me?" Bertrand blamed the fact that he, too, was tired, for the honesty of his reply.  
"Every second." The Chosen One stared at him, and Bertrand began to feel uncomfortable. Had he overstepped the mark? Still, he might as well be hanged for a sheep… "Did you miss _me_?"  
"_Blood,_ Bertrand." It was barely more than a whisper, torn unwillingly from Vlad's lips as he took a step towards his tutor, and then another, eyes filling with hope as the older vampire didn't back away. "You were all I could think about."

They stood, not touching, barely inches apart, and Bertrand thought he'd never seen anything as beautiful as the boy standing before him.  
"Before I left… I hope that wasn't… I hope it's okay."

He soon got his answer, as Bertrand pushed him up against a wall and attacked his lips. He knew this was wrong, it was treason, it was certainly improper of him to overstep the mark this way… but it _felt_ right. Before he could step away, Vlad's hand was in his hair, the other clawing at his back, and he realised there was no need to back off. For some unfathomable reason, Vlad _wanted_ him, wanted _him_, Bertrand du Fortunesa, the lowly tutor and servant of the Chosen One.

They broke apart.  
"Was everything alright, last week?" Bertrand straightened up, ready to give a full report, and Vlad followed him towards the centre of the room, grabbing at his arm. "Oh, forget it, as long as no-one's dust. Look, Bertrand… nobody knows I'm back yet." He gave him a significant look, and Bertrand's mouth fell open in a little '_oh_'.  
"I – should we te-?"  
"I'm going too fast, aren't I? I just… _blood_, Bertrand, you're all I can fogging think about and-" Bertrand kissed him again.  
"What are you asking me, Vlad?" The Chosen One glanced in the direction of his coffin for the briefest of moments, and his tutor caught the involuntary gesture. He leant in close, placing his hand into Vlad's and interlacing their fingers. "Slowly. Let's see how we go, shall we?" Then he stepped towards the coffin and gestured to its owner to get in. Mere seconds later, he was pulled down to join his student, and his lips were on Vlad's again.

If this was his reward for holding the fort, he certainly wouldn't mind doing so again.


	40. Stick

**OK, late at night again but this tiny little thing sprung to mind so I wrote it and now I'm posting it. IDK it might even directly contradict the episode I am too tired to tell but I have been waiting for a scene like the scene this scene logically precedes for MONTHS because it is about time that particular character got to play a little, so just shhh and bear with me. Pre-slash I guess?**

**SPOILERS FOR SERIES 4 EPISODE 3 YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

**Enjoy!**

"Oh, _now_ you want me to try?" Bertrand was less than impressed that he was second choice to Jonno, a slayer of all people.  
"Yeah. Go and show her your kendo routine or something, there's no way she won't fall for that."  
"Really? What makes you say that?"

Vlad just looked at him, straight into his eyes, and Bertrand could see all the secret, guilty lust hidden there.  
"Nobody could resist." The Chosen One spoke too softly for Erin to hear, and Bertrand wondered, if he pulled this off, if he stopped this marriage… would he one day finally have his chance?

Then Vlad turned back to his breather girlfriend and Bertrand forced himself to snap back to the cold, harsh reality. No matter what Vlad felt, he would stay with Erin. To keep the truce strong.

"Of course. I shall attend to it now." He strode off towards Adze's chamber.


	41. After Adze

**Just a brainworm that wouldn't go away. Enjoy!**

**SPOILERS FOR 4x03.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Bertrand returned to the training room to find his fellow conspirators already waiting there. He fought back the wave of irritation at their intrusion – last year, this had been his domain and he had defended his territory fiercely – and struggled to keep his disgust under control. They were gathered around the screen of the digital camera.

"Tell me you got what you needed." Vlad looked up, met his eye, nodded shortly. Jonno seemed determined to look anywhere but at the older vampire, but Erin was still holding the camera, jumping when it beeped as she pressed a button.  
"Oh, no, I think I just deleted it by acci-" She burst out laughing as Vlad took the camera back off her, checking it to find all the evidence still safe. "Ha, your faces!"

Bertrand's face, he knew, was still quite a sight. He had put aside his dignity and principles to try to help Vlad – to try to help Vlad _keep Erin_ – and the girl was laughing at him? He had agreed to manipulate a woman, potentially destroy her reputation and ruin her unlife, all for Vlad – and therefore Erin – and she dared joke about it all being in vain? The mere thought of his efforts being wasted appalled him almost as much as his own actions, as Vlad _whoring him out_ to save his own skin. Still, he gritted his teeth and stood, a soldier at attention, awaiting Vlad's orders. Awaiting Vlad's acknowledgement. As usual.

"Thanks, Bertrand. Knew I could count on you." It was exactly what he most wanted to hear, and his cold, unbeating heart swelled with pride for a moment before he realised that that was the only reason his protégé had chosen those words. He didn't mean it; he just knew, because Bertrand had taught him, that keeping people on his side, making them feel valued, was an important part of leadership. The warm feeling of having pleased the Chosen One collapsed in on itself, crumbling back into shame and self-loathing as he remembered what he had done for so little reward.

Jonno, now in possession of the camera, held it out to him, but Bertrand shook his head; he had no desire to risk _actually_ deleting the evidence, and even less desire to see it.  
"Who will see this?" He couldn't quite hold the question back.  
"Dad, Ramanga, Adze if she looks, I suppose. It depends how much of a fuss they kick up about the whole thing – whether it becomes a big enough scandal for _Fang! _to be interested…" Vlad turned absently back towards Erin, entwining their hands and resting his head close to hers. "I don't know, that might be a good idea…" Bertrand's eyes widened once more and Erin smirked at his impending humiliation. Jonno offered the camera back to Vlad.  
"Better get on with it, then." Vlad took the camera and left; Erin followed him out, muttering something about being outside, and Jonno went to keep her company while she waited.

Suddenly, Bertrand was alone in the training room, left to wonder what would happen to him when the Count saw the photographs, whether the entire vampire world would see his shame, whether he would ever feel clean again. He didn't have to wonder why he'd done it, though.

As ever, it had all been for Vlad.


	42. Keep Your Heart

**I was just pondering what might have happened between the end of series 3 and the beginning of series 4. And this happened. Inspired by the song 'Keep Your Heart Broken' by the Rasmus. Enjoy.**

**SPOILERS UP TO 4x03.**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

Vlad, contrary to his tutor's apparent belief, was no fool. He knew exactly how to hit Bertrand where it hurt, how to punish him for his betrayal. He simply ignored him as the dust was swept up, as the truce was agreed among the Draculas and extended to the slayers. He didn't turn to him for advice, he didn't scold him, he didn't even glance in his direction to see if he would play along with the plan.

From the corner of his eye he saw Bertrand slowly, deliberately crouch by the pile of dust that had been Sethius, and wondered if it was a desperate attempt to make him look. He kept his eyes firmly on Jonno and Mina until, all things being settled, he swept from the room.

If he hadn't been the Chosen One, with all the powers that entailed, he would have thought Bertrand had left the school the following night. Nobody saw him for two weeks, and the door to the training room remained firmly closed. Vlad suspected, from something Wolfie had said about trying to go in there and build a den, that it was also barricaded on the inside. Still, Vlad didn't so much as mention his tutor's name, let alone ask where he was.

He'd risked a quick patrol to his tutor's room and done a quick search, but there was nothing untoward there. That was some relief, although he was sure Bertrand was more than capable of hiding anything he didn't want Vlad to see. Then, with no explanation, Bertrand appeared in their midst once again, as suddenly as he had vanished.

Vlad rather thought that he was trying to find the chance to apologise, for the first couple of days after his return, but since Vlad refused to acknowledge him except when he wanted something specific from his tutor, he didn't get chance. Eventually, he gave up, and began acting as if nothing had ever happened. He was nothing but helpful; attentive, polite, and he appeared to have ordered and collected his own supply of soy blood while nobody was looking, at some point during those mysterious two weeks of silence.

The Chosen One was furious, and he didn't really understand why. Bertrand was being impeccably well-behaved, a better example than his own father most of the time, and he hadn't even fought back when Vlad had eventually condescended to ask him about his new piece of statement jewellery. He'd been surprised to learn, actually, that wearing Sethius' finger _hadn't_ simply been intended to shock Vlad into acknowledging him. No, it had been a personal reminder to Bertrand of his own mistakes, and even his accusations of further treachery had been met with no more than a mildly offended expression. Vlad had wanted it to hurt.

That was the problem, he realised. He knew how Bertrand felt about him, how he'd always felt about him. He'd thought that making him feel completely insignificant would break the man's heart, cold and unbeating though it was. He'd expected him to be pushed to the brink of insanity, to beg for forgiveness, to be inconsolable until Vlad finally forgave him – or else to rage and roar and prove just how strong and formidable he could be, because really, the incident with Sethius hadn't done much to showcase his tutor's skills. He'd even thought he might leave, unable to bear seeing the Chosen One's disdain each night, and Vlad would leave him to stew for a few days before swooping down to bring him home, the magnanimous and merciful ruler that he was.

Instead, Bertrand seemed to have shrugged it off, like he didn't care at all, and continued to serve him as loyally as he ever had. Vlad would concede that; he had always been loyal before, and he'd certainly forgiven worse betrayals than the few minor infractions Bertrand had committed. After all, Bertrand was one of the few people in the house who'd never actually made an attempt on his unlife. Now it seemed that even his disgrace could not stop him doing Vlad's bidding – helping him enforce the truce, steering the street fangs through Revamp with surprising composure given that Vlad was pretty sure he suffered from a blood addiction himself – even allowing himself to be caught up in that stupid smear campaign against Adze. It was infuriating. Was there no way of breaking him?

"Vlad." A soft voice broke into his thoughts, and he turned to find Bertrand hovering in the doorway. "Can I have a word?" He shrugged, turning back to the way he'd originally been facing. He heard Bertrand hesitate before stepping over the threshold and shutting the door behind him. Then there was silence.  
"What do you want?"  
"I need to apologise." He turned at that, couldn't help himself, and was surprised to see Bertrand sinking to his knees. "I know you don't want to hear it, but I truly am sorry, and I hope my service in the last few weeks goes some way towards showing that I never want to let you down again."

Vlad stared at him.  
"What's brought this on now?" Bertrand bowed his head, still kneeling in submission.  
"I don't need to be forgiven, I just want you to know you can trust me. Please, Vlad. You have to understand what you mean to me- to the whole vampire race." He corrected himself hastily, but Vlad knew what he meant.  
"Did it break your heart when I ignored you, Bertrand?" He could feel his reflection close to the surface, gloating in triumph as Bertrand hung his head still lower and nodded. "But you got over that pretty fast. I can't mean that much to you." His tone was mocking, but his words were sincere.  
"I never got over it." Bertrand looked up, meeting his eyes, and Vlad could finally see all the pain there, could almost feel it. "I simply continued to serve as best as I could. I promise I always will."

"Then promise me one more thing." Vlad couldn't help but feel a little victorious at the open, desperate expression on Bertrand's face. "Promise to keep your heart broken." Bertrand's mouth fell open.  
"I-" Vlad lowered himself to his tutor's level and pulled him into a hungry, demanding kiss, pulling back and leaving Bertrand stunned.  
"I wasn't finished. Promise to keep your heart broken… until I come to claim it." He waited for Bertrand to nod stupidly, and then swept out of his room.

Now it was time to deal with Adze and Erin so he could get what he really wanted. Sometimes, being a soulless fiend had its upsides.


	43. The Last Day

**Slash. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Young Dracula - if I did I think I'd have to stop writing fanfic and do some work, don't you?**

Three hours. He just had to remain calm for three more hours, and then he would never teach another class at Garside ever again. His year eight class were taking liberties; he let them. They were year eights, it wasn't as if they had exams to worry about. Besides, it was the last day of term and every other class in the school was probably slacking off. In the end, he caved in and stuck a video on.

Two hours to go, and he'd been drafted in to help decorate the hall. Balloons in every corner, and for once Bertrand felt they were appropriate. Two more hours, and he would be free from timetables and rules and insolent breather children.

With one hour remaining, he found himself sat at the back of the very same hall, watching as assorted certificates were handed out. Some of the names he recognised, some he didn't; some he had put forward himself for recognition of their outstanding History progress. All were irrelevant, really, when it came down to it. Even Vlad's language awards – McCauley had convinced him to sit exams in Romanian and Welsh on the quiet, and he'd done extremely well – weren't really important.

As the last minute ticked away, Bertrand began edging towards the door, no longer caring if he seemed rude. He wouldn't be coming back to teach; there was no way. He paused , barely a metre from the door, as Miss McCauley spoke the fateful words that would end his teaching career once and for all.  
"And as much as it saddens me to say it, you are now officially no longer students here at Garside school. As of this moment, you are adults, free to make your own-"

He didn't hear any more after that, because Vlad had leapt from his seat and was pounding along the aisle towards him, apparently determined to make a scene. He threw his arms around his tutor and pulled him down into the kind of kiss nobody could possibly mistake for a first as the room erupted into mutters and whispers and – to Bertrand's surprise – even tentative applause. Indeed, the noise grew as he wrapped his arms around the Chosen One and kissed him back, until it seemed like the whole school was cheering.

As they finally parted to give the illusion of needing to breathe, he glanced over at Miss McCauley, who was staring aghast, and caught sight of Jim, shaking his head with a fond smile, out of the corner of his eye. Vlad grinned up at him.  
"No stopping us now."

Bertrand thought his cold, dead heart might burst.


	44. Aorta

**Just sprung to mind and I had to write it. If you're having trouble imagining the ****_Aorta_****, pick up a copy of ****_The Lady_**** in any newsagents that sells it. I say pick up - don't buy it, I'm pretty sure it's expensive.**

**SPOILERS UP TO 3x13 but I assume you've all watched at least that far by now. If not, you should really get on that.**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

Bertrand was sitting in the training room with a copy of the _Aorta_ when Vlad walked in, a few days after the Sethius incident.  
"Bertrand, I haven't seen you in days, where-?" He broke off with a snort, and Bertrand peered over his paper.  
"Is something funny?" Vlad smirked.  
"You read the _Aorta_? You? I thought only out-of-work night-gardeners and vampires looking for governess jobs took the _Aorta_." Bertrand raised an eyebrow, placed the paper on the table, and drew a bold ring around a listing.

Vlad's face fell, a frown creasing his brow.  
"You're looking for a job?" Bertrand nodded and circled another advertisement with a flourish; he had no interest in becoming a soy farmer near Port Talbot but pickings were slim and he wanted the boy to think he had a few more options than he actually had. "Why?"  
"Well, obviously I can't stay here." He looked up to find Vlad looking no less confused. "That is, I assumed you would have no room for a traitor in your midst." The Chosen One shook his head.

"There are still things you can do around here. Training's cancelled until further notice, but I need someone to write up some records of the Chosen One's unlife so far, and when you're not doing that you'll come patrolling with me, Erin and Jonno. Tonight." With that, he plucked the paper out of his former tutor's hands and turned to leave. "An apology wouldn't go amiss, though," he called over his shoulder, "when you can manage one." Then he was gone, leaving Bertrand to sit alone.

"I'm sorry." He murmured it into the empty air, and wondered what he had done to deserve such easy acceptance back into the fold. "I'm sorry." Yes, the price was but one truth to atone for all his deceits. Bertrand could do that.


	45. Contrast

**Inspired by a prompt I saved ages ago from Adam Maxwell's Writing Prompt Generator (Google it, it should be easy enough to find). Enjoy.**

**SPOILERS UP TO 4x03.**

**Disclaimer: The show isn't mine.**

He noticed the contrast now more than ever.

He'd seen it, of course, when the boy had first emerged from the Blood Mirror room, but that had been a caricature, a negative image of the Vladimir he'd come to know and admire.

It had become more obvious that the boy had truly changed at around the time of the Sethius incident. First he'd begun to use his family – the people he'd truly cared about above all else – as mere pawns in his first forays into the world of strategy. He'd become arrogant, ignoring his tutor's advice and brushing off his concerns about the fate of his kind – _their_ kind, the kind Vlad was to rule over. Then, suddenly it seemed, he'd become all power, all commands and ruthless dominion, brokering treaties, dusting ancients and brooking no resistance.

He'd forgiven those who'd betrayed him, or so he claimed; it seemed more likely, however, that he simply no longer cared. Vladimir Dracula would stand alone as the world burnt around him if that was what suited him best, and for now it was easier to pretend that he valued those around him, that he trusted them.

He'd settled down for a while, busy pursuing his old dream of breathers and vampires living in harmony, but there were still telling incidents here and there; bleeding Erin whenever there was a blood shortage, locking his barely-recovering blood-addict tutor in a room coated in garlic to teach the ferals to live without blood, and now this.

Bertrand couldn't keep the sadness from his expression as Vlad asked him to dig up whatever dirt he could on the Princess Adze. The Vlad he'd first met, the Vlad he'd grown to care for, he never would have considered such a course of action; he probably would have just straight-up told his bride-to-be that he was having none of it. Knowing Vlad, he'd have found some way to get her to work with him. That Vlad, it seemed, was gone.

Yes, Bertrand saw the contrast now more than ever. If he had known just _how_ much more cavalier the Chosen One had become with regards to the feelings of those around him, he would have left Garside there and then. In a few hours he would find himself sinking to whole new lows to please the boy he'd once striven to rise to impress.

Still he did it, for the Chosen One. For Vlad.


	46. Amends

**Just popped into my brain out of nowhere, partly based on a bit of 4x02 I suppose. Het ship, minor miracle.**

**SPOILERS UP TO 4x03 (wherein this is set)**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"Ingrid." She raised an eyebrow, turning to find the source of yet another interruption. Honestly, it was a short enough corridor, but in the time it had taken her to pass along it and turn into the hall leading to her room, she'd already been accosted by Malik _and_ stared at by Ramanga. Now, it seemed, she had another man to deal with.  
"Jonno. Was there a particular reason for you to get in my way or were you just put on this earth to annoy me?"

The slayer grimaced and Ingrid allowed herself the tiniest of smirks; she did love making him uncomfortable. But then he held out a box, wrapped in black with a ribbon the shade of the night sky tied around it.  
"This whole thing with Adze… well, it reminded me I was a bit horrible to you when Mum and I first arrived here. So this is for you." She raised an eyebrow at him, taking the box. "I promise it's not a little fluffy bunny."

She pulled impatiently at the ribbon, tucking it into a pocket – it was a nice colour, and ribbons were always useful things to have around – before lifting the lid from the box. She'd intended to be sarcastic about the contents, but her mouth fell open.  
"Jonno, it's beautiful." He shrugged awkwardly.  
"It had to be, or it wouldn't deserve you." She lifted the necklace from its cushion, admiring the way the sapphires glinted in the light. It was a big, bold statement piece, but it was so delicately wrought she had to strain even her keen vampiric eyes to admire every detail. "I saw it in a jeweller's not long after the tutu incident, and I figured… well, there was only one woman I knew who could do it justice. So I saved up." She stared at him in shock.

"I don't know what to say." He shook his head.  
"You don't have to say anything." They stood awkwardly for a moment, and then he spoke again. "Why did you save me from Malik?" She frowned.  
"I don't know. Having you around brightens the place up, I suppose. Keeps things interesting." She hesitated. "If it had been a slayer, you'd have done the same for me, right?"  
"Yeah, of course." She eyed him for a moment longer, then held out the necklace and turned her back on him.  
"Would you mind-?" He took it and placed it reverently around her neck, fastening the clasp with trembling hands. She turned back to him with a haughty expression that she only hoped concealed the bats that had begun flapping about in her stomach the moment his warm hands brushed her skin. "What do you think?"

"Stunning, just… completely gorgeous." But he wasn't looking at the necklace, he was gazing into her eyes, and it seemed only natural to lean in and kiss him. His lips were warm, and so were his hands as they came to rest on her arms, very respectful and proper. She didn't want propriety right now; she'd had enough of game-playing with Ramanga and the street-fang. She deepened the kiss, relishing his grunt of surprise, and pulled back to admire the breathless way he was blushing.  
"You remember my coffin room, Jonno?" He nodded, dazed. "Want to see it again?"


	47. Blood Loss

**OK, so I spent too long shouting at the computer screen on my many, many watches of Young Dracula to let this pass unremarked: Vlad's an idiot. Seriously, you've got a stasis-sprayed slayer, the Chosen One, and a known slayer. Who do you send to tell a roomful of hungry vampires they're not getting fed? Honestly kid, there was only one wrong answer to that and you picked it. Anyway. Rant over, this got away from me a bit, enjoy.**

**SPOILERS FOR 4x03.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"Bertrand?" Jonno had slipped into the room as quietly as he could, but by the time he spoke every eye was already upon him. His heart pounded in his chest; the slayer-issue wristbands regulating his pulse could only do so much. The tutor scowled at his students, but they looked on, unrepentant, as he pulled Jonno into a corner of the room to speak as privately as possible. "The blood supply's been stolen." There were hisses from the classroom, and Bertrand turned to fix them all with a glare until they sat down.  
"Is that some kind of joke?" Jonno shook his head apologetically, and Bertrand closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he was all business. "You need to tell Vlad."  
"He knows; he sent me to tell you while he talks to Renfield about soy blood."

Bertrand frowned at him, bewildered.  
"He sent you here?" Jonno nodded.  
"He and Erin went to sort things out in the meantime-"  
"Erin, as in the half-fang, and Vlad who's the Chosen One, both knew about this?" He nodded – they always referred to Erin as half-fang when she was wearing her spray – but he didn't see what Bertrand was getting at. "Well, I must say, I had no idea Renfield was so dangerous. You need to get out of here." Jonno nodded.  
"Yeah. Thanks. He just said to tell you to keep them calm." They both glanced across at the class, only to find every vampire in the room standing between Jonno and the door, fangs bared, advancing slowly.  
"On second thoughts, looks like you're staying in this corner for a bit." Bertrand sounded mildly exasperated; it was reassuring, in a way, that he didn't seem too concerned. The tutor spread his arms, turning his back on the slayer as he began ordering the vampires to sit down. One or two actually did drop back into their seats when admonished by name, but the pack remained, just far enough away for Bertrand to let them stay, but too close to be mistaken for the obedient students they should have been.

Jonno fingered the stake inside his jacket anxiously; he'd brought it in case he was attacked on his way into the school, given what had happened to the blood supply, but now he wondered if he shouldn't just break the treaty himself and stake his way out. Of course, the first vampire he'd have to get past was Bertrand, whose unprotected back presented a tempting target for any slayer. But he seemed to be genuinely trying to defend him, and he couldn't betray the trust he was putting in his old foe to do so. He let go of the stake and just hoped Bertrand was as in control as he thought he was.

Suddenly, the revamp kids were turning away, heading for the door as one, and Bertrand's body tensed even as Jonno's relaxed.  
"What's going on?" Bertrand spoke quietly as the other vampires filed out, as if he was struggling against something.  
"There's blood in the school. Fresh, warm, flowing blood. They're hunting."  
"Shouldn't you stop them?" The tutor turned, and Jonno could see the pain in his features.  
"I only 'revamped' about a month ago myself. Vlad can deal with them; I need to stay here. Besides, they might come back."

Vlad's voice echoed from the corridor and Bertrand began moving slowly towards the door.  
"Stay here. It's safer." The older vampire stood in the doorway, filling the frame as well as he could, watching as Vlad and his father argued and then shot away. Jonno saw him reach forward, as if to say something, but they were gone too quickly.

It was only a minute later that Bertrand took a deep sniff of the air and turned back to Jonno.  
"They'll be in the Blood Cellar now, there's no way they could resist that. You need to find Erin, quickly. If the two of you stick together you should be fine." Jonno nodded; he could guess where she'd be, with the Blood Tea Ceremony starting so soon.  
"Are you gonna be alright? With the blood?" The vampire closed his eyes for a long moment, and Jonno was afraid he'd offended him. Then they opened again, and he nodded.  
"I'll be fine. And I'll be having words with Vlad about this. Go now, they drink fast."

Jonno hurried away, wondering what had just happened.


	48. Dream

**Slashy, weird little thing that just happened somehow. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

Vlad couldn't say where the thought had come from.

He wasn't a blood-thirsty vampire; that wasn't who he was, he'd made sure everyone knew that over the last few years. He'd rather fall on a stake than sink his fangs into warm, succulent flesh – he closed his eyes, frustrated. Alright, so the bloodlust still crept up on him sometimes, but that didn't mean anything, and nor did the fact that lately he always wanted to bite the same breather; a breather he knew full well didn't exist.

Still, in the safety of his own coffin, he couldn't help letting his mind wander. He closed his eyes and dreamt of dark streets, a curly-haired young man walking stiffly ahead of him, no doubt off to do something dull he didn't really want to do and hope that there'd be time for reading later. Vlad could give him that time; he could give him eternity.

_It would be easy to take him, just get in close behind him and sink his fangs in before he'd even realised what had happened. But Vlad didn't want to do that. He could drag him into the nearest alleyway and drain him dry before he even had chance to scream. He didn't want to do that, either. Instead, he caught up with the breather and, without looking at him, murmured "Take the next left and meet me in the park."_

_It didn't matter how often he dreamed the same scenario, he always tensed as he walked away, hoping against hope that the breather obeyed him, even though he had no reason to do so. It was always a relief when he turned to find the young man walking towards him.  
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Those fathomless blue eyes never failed to make him moan, the other man's eyes narrowing as he factored the noise into his assessment of the situation.  
"Do you want to know me?"_

_The other man licked his lips, and Vlad forced himself to keep his face straight, eyes fixed on the involuntary gesture. The answer, when it came, was barely more than a ragged whisper.  
"Yes." The breather inhaled deeply. "I'm Bertrand-" Vlad raised a finger to the other man's lips.  
"I don't need your name." Then he grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him in for a kiss that bordered on brutality. Bertrand clutched at him, apparently enjoying Vlad's predatory behaviour, as the vampire gradually moved from his mouth to kiss his neck, sucking wetly at the pulse point, arguing with himself. Bertrand moaned, and the noise made the decision for him; Vlad's fangs plunged into his throat and the vampire sensed, rather than saw, the way his eyes widened in horror._

_He stayed with him long after he'd pulled his fangs back and licked the last of the blood from his lips, running a hand through his hair until he stirred. The man sat up, disorientated, and those piercing eyes fixed on Vlad again.  
"What did you do?"  
"I made you immortal. Like me." Even in a dream, it was satisfying to be more knowledgable than Bertrand du Fortunesa. He flashed his fangs, and Bertrand frowned.  
"Why?"_

His eyes flew open and he launched himself from the coffin, suddenly on a mission to find his tutor. He didn't even bother knocking; it was early enough that Bertrand would still be awake, reading or researching some new obscure piece of lore to ruin Vlad's life with.  
"Vlad?" Sure enough, he was at his desk, and it was the work of moments for the Chosen One to cross the room and straddle his lap.  
"I need to tell you. I wish I was the one who'd bitten you. I know it's stupid, but I keep dreaming about it, biting you, and it's… it's just really hot, Bertrand, I wish I could make you mine that way."

His tutor stared at him, dumbfounded; Vlad couldn't really blame him. In the several months they'd been seeing each other, they'd never really discussed fantasies or wishes. Now Vlad was all over him, telling him he wished he'd killed him. Oh, _blood_; put like that it sounded awful. He was about to apologise when Bertrand did something unexpected.

He pushed Vlad off his lap, so that they could both stand, then lowered himself carefully to his knees and tilted his head, exposing his neck. Vlad didn't react, immediately, too busy wondering what on earth his tutor was thinking.  
"You can bite me, Vlad. Let's do this properly." The Chosen One blinked and his tutor sighed. "I'm yours. If you want to see that, if you want to _feel _it, then I'll do all I can-" Vlad's tongue flashed out to moisten his lips and he dropped to his own knees in front of his tutor.  
"I'm yours too, Bertrand, I don't _need_ to-"  
"I want you to." The urgency in Bertrand's voice caught him off-guard and he fell silent. "I've been dreaming about you since the moment I met you, dreaming of you marking me as your own. Your fangs in my flesh-" Vlad kissed him; he needed to stop him talking, just for a moment, so he could think, so he could control himself.

"Bertrand-" His tutor glanced up from beneath his eyelashes, a tiny smile quirking the corner of his mouth upwards.  
"You don't need my name." It was as if he was following the motions of a dance he'd learnt by heart as he pulled his lover closer by his shirt and kissed him, trailing his lips down his neck until, as his tongue caressed the cold skin, Bertrand made a tiny wanting noise. Vlad felt his fangs descend and barely hesitated, burying them in Bertrand's throat as if there was actually blood pumping underneath the man's skin.

Bertrand clutched at his back, never moving away from the pain of the bite, and Vlad pulled back to soothe the wounds with his tongue. Bertrand gazed at him, as they both knelt on the floor, with that same adoring expression he'd turned on him for so long. Vlad ran a hand through his tutor's hair and sighed contentedly.  
"Mine." Bertrand nodded solemnly.  
"Entirely." Vlad bit his lip, relieved when Bertrand leant forward to take over the task. When they broke apart, the Chosen One could only think of one thing to say.  
"…Why?"


	49. Panto

**I know, I know, it's early, but shh. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"It's a crocodile!" shouted one of the characters, rushing off-stage.  
"Oh, no, it isn't!" The actor left behind paused expectantly, waiting for the students of Garside to respond. Unfortunately, the teenagers in the audience all thought themselves far too cool to get involved in such childish silliness.

"Yes it _is_!" A frustrated voice sounded from the back of the hall, and the Count was rewarded with a smile from Alex McCauley as Erin and Vlad nudged each other, amused.  
"Oh, no, it isn't!" The man waved his hook.  
"Oh – yes it is, look!" The Count sounded exasperated, and some of the students were beginning to giggle.  
"Where?" The actor was really being very dim-witted – frankly it was a miracle he hadn't been eaten already, in the Count's opinion.  
"He's behind you!" This time, it wasn't just the Count who shouted.

It seemed the students of Garside were finally getting into the panto spirit.


	50. Football

**Silly early-morning fic (I have to stop doing this and start sleeping...) but I hope you enjoy it. Leaving it open to interpretation(ish) but might do a follow-up at some point. I've just been watching series 1 and this wouldn't leave me alone.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Not even slightly. Shame.**

Robin might have been a little _too _enthusiastic in his celebrations.

To be fair, he hadn't been expecting their little five-a-side team to actually _win_ the pub league. Truth be told, none of them had been expecting to get to the finals – let alone finals the other side of the country. As it turned out, of course, it had been getting home afterwards that had been their downfall. Robin's, anyway; he had no idea where the other lads had gone. Maybe they'd made the bus. He didn't know. It didn't matter too much.

Robin stumbled along the dark road until he spotted a building with lights in the windows. It was a big building, and a small group of people seemed to be making their way inside; perhaps it was a hotel. He'd scored two goals today; he could afford to spend a little on a hotel room until he sobered up. Belatedly he realised that he was still wearing his football strip, but hopefully this wasn't a posh, snobby kind of hotel. Well, OK, judging by the fancy building and the grounds, it was going to be a _very_ posh, snobby kind of hotel, but he'd only be in reception for two seconds and then he could change into the clean clothes he'd had the foresight to throw in his backpack before leaving home.

It wasn't until he stepped through the doors themselves that he began to wonder if he'd made a mistake. He was pretty drunk, but even in this state he was pretty certain that hotels tended to have reception desks near their front doors. This place had nothing of the sort. He blanched, afraid for a moment that he was going to be sick; had he wandered into someone's house? This was so embarrassing. Still, it wasn't as if anyone had seen him yet; he could just leave without disturbing anyone.

That was when the figure appeared at the top of the stairs. Robin must have been drunker than he thought, because he could have sworn they then reappeared almost immediately at the bottom. But that couldn't be possible. More impossible still, bells of recognition were clanging in Robin's muddled brain.

He'd seen that exact expression before, on a much younger face – the same posture as the young man took in the sight of him, the same eyes, darkening the same way as they swept over his body. Robin felt vulnerable, somehow, through the alcohol-induced haze, but not as vulnerable as he thought he probably _should_ feel, standing swaying in the hallway of someone else's home while they practically devoured him with their eyes. He didn't mind it, somehow; he'd seen the whole thing before. Long ago, back at school… Nah, it couldn't be.

"Robin?" Apparently, it could.  
"Vlad!" He took a moment to appreciate the changes in his old friend; he'd hardly have recognised him if it wasn't for the way he'd reacted to Robin standing there in his football kit in exactly the same way he'd reacted all those years ago when he'd first put one on for Stokely Grammar.

Now he saw the expression again, he wondered why they'd never realised at the time that they were two smoking-hot guys, hanging out with each other all the time. Just the two of them. Staring at each other. Sacrificing their favourite dreams for each other. Somehow they'd never realised what that might have meant. But then, they'd been kids.

Now, though, now they were twenty-three years old, and some mad coincidence had brought them back to each other, and there was only one thing that could possibly be said. They both blurted it out at once.  
"What are you doing here?"


	51. Pattern

**Another early morning fic. Don't even ask where this one came from. The first two lines just... sort of... happened and it spiralled out of control from there. I hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

"It's Bertrand, I think he's gone rogue." The Chosen One sighed.  
"Has it really been a whole century already?" Ingrid raised an eyebrow.  
"My, so jaded. Trouble in paradise?" Vlad rolled his eyes at his sister; she knew their history as well as he did, albeit in less vivid detail.  
"You know that's not what I mean. It's just that this always happens."

Bertrand was nothing but loyal, ninety-nine years, eleven months and at least two weeks of the century. It was just that after a hundred years or so, he tended to find himself too frustrated by Vlad's apparent shortcomings – as a leader, as a listener, as a student, as a _friend_ – and would disappear off the radar, gathering his own allies from the dark corners of the vampire population where Vlad still had enemies. He'd do something in direct opposition to what Vlad had wanted, or he'd try to claim some powerful object for himself, or otherwise make a nuisance of himself.

Bertrand hadn't grown _predictable_ as such – there was really no telling what he was planning at the moment – but there were patterns to his behaviour. For example, he never directly attacked Vlad, or plotted to assassinate the Grand High Vampire. He always managed to root out the least pleasant of Vlad's many, many treacherous 'friends' and part-time enemies. He usually ended up furthering Vlad's cause in some way. And, without fail, it would be less than a fortnight before he faced off with Vlad and then returned meekly to his service. They would never speak of these little transgressions until both were sure any lingering resentment had passed, and then they would mine them for strategic purposes.  
"If I'd wanted to slay you," Bertrand had informed him bluntly after the second or third of these little incidents, "I easily could have." He'd explained when, and how, and then he'd trained him to within an inch of his unlife until he was sure that Vlad was in no danger.

This time, though, Vlad didn't intend to bother chasing him. Bertrand would come back, and maybe he just needed the Chosen One to show that he trusted him enough to let things run their course. So it was a somewhat bewildered Bertrand who stood before him, seventeen days later, watching his most recent batch of underlings being led away for their punishments – most were simply too much of a threat and would have to be staked – and clutching an ancient vampire relic in his gloved hands.

"Ah, Bertrand. Something you wanted?" He tried not to sound too amused by the way Bertrand had marched in and handed his accomplices over as if that had been his plan all along. He rather suspected, in fact, that it _had_; after all, it happened every century, and Bertrand had never lifted a finger to save any of the scum he associated with before.  
"I – well – _yes_." They both waited expectantly for the other to speak, but Vlad had all the power here and his former tutor really had no choice but to give in. "I betrayed you."

His ruler raised an eyebrow.  
"And?" He was expecting an apology of some sort; surely that was why Bertrand had come here tonight. What he got instead was a hurt expression; almost a pout, but the word didn't do justice to the broken look in Bertrand's eyes.  
"You didn't come for me." His cold heart shattered into a million pieces as Bertrand carried on. "I found the most dangerous traitors of the century – again – and I've brought you back a powerful weapon that could be fatal in the wrong hands – again – and you didn't come for me."

His former tutor seemed to stop himself talking with difficulty, no doubt already cursing himself for what he _had_ said. Vlad rose from his throne and dismissed the guards, placing a hand on his tutor's jaw. Bertrand dropped the amulet carefully onto a nearby table, waiting for Vlad's next move.  
"Did you think I didn't care about you?" The older vampire nodded unhappily and Vlad pressed their lips together by way of argument.

"Silly boy. I _trusted_ you. I knew you'd come back." Then he pulled him into a kiss that went some way towards making up for seventeen lost days in the coffin they'd shared for nearly a millennium. "You never miss our anniversary."


	52. Domesticated

**AU, of sorts, I suppose, although it could be canon if you squint... Set after 3x02. Enjoy.**

On the whole, Bertrand was glad the Draculas had been out of the loop for a while. It was true that in his youth, when he'd barely been sired, he'd staked a good few imposters to the Chosen One's title, but he'd made too many enemies and had to disappear for a while.

When he'd reemerged into vampire society, it had been under the protection of the Vampire High Council, most of whom had every intention of claiming their offspring to be the Chosen One at some point and therefore demanded that he let the imposters walk away. He'd spent the centuries since then as little more than a domesticated Council pet, reduced to scavenging on battlefields for fear that hunting would get him staked.

Coming to Garside had brought with it an unfamiliar anxiety; this boy claimed to be the Chosen One, but Bertrand had no way of compelling him to take the title seriously. In the end, he'd resorted to his old script, threatening the entire Dracula family.

Yes, on the whole, it was a good thing that the boy had been kept in the dark about what Bertrand du Fortunesa had become. He'd had no reason not to take the threat seriously. He'd been forced to accept the book and, begrudgingly, Bertrand's help. Now Bertrand was comfortably kept – four walls, a roof, even a coffin – and the Dracula Blood Cellar was always generously open to anyone with a lockpick.

Domesticated he might be, but Bertrand du Fortunesa was on his way up once more.


	53. Stag

**Set IMMEDIATELY before the start of episode 4x06 so spoilers for that. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"Oh _dear,_ I seem to have lost it." The Count treated the assembled stags to a far-from-apologetic smirk, and Bertrand let out a short bark of laughter.  
"Course you have. Come on, hand it over, I've got to get going." The Count's hand slipped into his pocket... and then his face fell. The room gradually quietened as Bertrand held his hand out and Vlad's father continued to pat down his pockets. Renfield stepped in to help, but the Count swatted him away.  
"Oh, bats. I had it here _somewhere_."

Bertrand's eyes widened as he realised the Count really wasn't joking. He turned his own attention to the table the Count had been sitting at, trying to remember where he'd been. Where could he have put the key?  
"You've got to be kidding me." He began hauling drunken street-fangs to their feet – when had they been invited, anyway? Vlad must have been pre-drinking more than he thought – and summarily frisking them before throwing them out of the way. "Vlad could be dust if we don't find it!" Nobody else seemed quite as perturbed by this idea, but the room gradually roused itself to search for the lost object.

Finally, as the Count stepped sharply away from Renfield, who seemed keen to pat him down once more, Bertrand spotted it.  
"Nobody move!" The room obligingly froze, and in the split-second it took the Count and Ramanga to bristle in preparation to scold him for his cheek in ordering them about, he swept the key up from where it had been under the Count's foot all along and made for the door, snatching up his cape and glasses.

"You'd just better _hope_ I'm not too late."


	54. Proof

**SPOILERS UP TO 4x06**

**Inspired in part by something moggiepillar over on Tumblr said.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Bertrand was doing his best. Really, he was. He'd been on his best behaviour since the Sethius incident, and Vlad still didn't trust him.

"The only person I trust is Erin!" The words rang in his ears long after Vlad had slammed the door downstairs, long after he'd finished with being threatened by Ramanga, even after the Chosen One had returned and he'd told him about the Ramanga plot. Erin? She'd betrayed him more than anyone else in the house, really – secrets layered under lies on top of more secrets – so why couldn't Vlad see that?

He'd proven himself over and over since his one solo mutiny, but the Chosen One still demanded proof of everything he said. The discs for the heat-sensor had been wiped; wasn't that suspicious enough to earn him just a little credibility? Then the plot against his life... He would have thought it was obvious that he wouldn't just completely change his mind about the blood-binding for the sheer fun of it. But no, Vlad demanded proof.

Bertrand backed out of the ceremony, glad after all that Jonno had been chosen as best man instead of him. He could never have got away otherwise, however annoyed he'd been at the time. Bertrand was his best friend, his closest ally. How could one mistake have changed all that?

He was on Vlad's side, til the very end. Now all he had to do was prove it.


	55. Servants

**Tiny, tiny ficlet... Inspired by the way Renfield's the only person who even ****_tries_**** to pronounce Bertrand's name properly.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Bertrand avoided eating in the kitchen these days, but sometimes it couldn't be helped. Renfield wandered through as he was contemplating the delicate hint of cinnamon in his apple pie – a guilty pleasure he'd picked up from the nearest supermarket – muttering to himself as usual.

"Oh, yes, thought you were better than me, didn't you? Better than stupid old Renfield. But he'll never look at you, just like the Count might never bite me, and we're both in a fine mess aren't we? At least the Count can stand the sight of me."

The butler looked up, straight into Bertrand's eyes, and his goofy grin was nowhere to be seen as he made a sarcastic little bow with a flourish.  
"Welcome, _Bertrand_, to the ranks of the Unaspeciated Servants." Then he was gone again, leaving Bertrand to his pie.

Somehow, it didn't seem as appetising as it had.


	56. Best Man

**Just a random little thing. Spoilers for all the way up to 4x06. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

Bertrand pushed Vlad into the centre of the room and ditched his cloak – on closer inspection, he seemed to realise it was Ramanga's and hung it back in the proper place accordingly – while Jonno watched him carefully. He didn't understand the way his face twisted with annoyance the moment the Count's attention was diverted, and he didn't understand why he'd gone to get Vlad in from the sun when, surely, that was the job of the best man. And he would have worked out how urgent that was eventually, honest – he'd just had a lot to drink and it was easy to forget, sometimes, that the rest of the people he was hanging out these days were vampires.

Truth be told, he wasn't really sure why _he _was Vlad's best man anyway. He got that they'd known each other at school, and they were the same age, and Vlad's choices were limited, but they didn't really know each other that well. He'd more or less forgotten Vlad existed for half the time since he'd met him, and they'd spent most of the rest of their acquaintance trying to kill each other. Well, he'd spent it trying to kill Vlad. He was forced to concede that, barring the accident involving his father, Vlad had never harmed him at all. But surely there was an obvious alternative to Jonno staring Vlad in the face?

He supposed he reminded Vlad of Robin; that was why he'd been chosen as best man, that was why Vlad was so keen to hang out. To Vlad, Jonno meant Stokely and Stokely meant Robin. He was sure if Robin had been here, he would have been doing a much better job of taking Vlad's mind off his problems than Jonno was. Robin would have realised straight away how much danger Vlad was in; Robin wouldn't have laughed and tossed the Count the key. And all this time, the only reason Vlad was still getting by was the man who'd swept him under his cloak as if sharing an outer garment was completely natural, had tucked him under his arm as if he belonged there.

The tutor turned and met his eye and for a moment he knew they were both thinking exactly the same thing.

Bertrand should have been Vlad's best man.


	57. Tomorrow

**Slash. Vlad's stag night is about to start. Spoilers to 4x06.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"Bertrand, it's my blood-binding tomorrow night." Bertrand nodded, accepting the truth of this.  
"I know."  
"She's probably going to stake me in the back."  
"Yeah."  
"Will you look out for me?"

Bertrand took a moment to really look at the Chosen One, eyes sweeping over him in a strange mixture of concern and affection.  
"Of course I will. You know I always will."  
"Even though I'm marrying Adze?"  
"Even though you made _Jonno_ your best man." He wrinkled his nose in mock disgust and Vlad smiled in spite of himself.  
"Thought you might want to be able to make a quick exit, you know, if... you didn't want to watch." Bertrand nodded; the consideration was appreciated. However, he would be there to keep an eye on that poisonous viper Adze. He didn't trust her, or her father.

"Come on, you'd better not be late for your own stag party." Vlad sighed and hauled himself out of his coffin, dragging Bertrand with him.  
"If they chain me to anything... make sure I get out, alright?" Bertrand pressed a tender kiss to the place where Vlad's neck became his back, wrapping his arms around him from behind.  
"Always."


	58. Trust

**So my remaining laptop broke. Suffice to say I am not happy. However, I have been slaving over a hot notebook for the last day and a half, so I've got a few little Blood Droplets to post. Here's the first (the second one I wrote yesterday) - enjoy!**

**Possible mild spoilers up to... pfft, about 4x03 at the latest.  
**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

Vlad still didn't trust him. Bertrand had hoped things were back to normal, but it seemed that was only the case in certain situations, the ones that suited the Chosen One.

It had only taken three nights after the Sethius incident, for example, for Vlad to demand that he help patrol to enforce the ceasefire. Bertrand was aware of being watched at all times while they were out, but the feeling gradually became less intrusive until he forgot it about it entirely and it was like old times.

It only took two weeks after the Sethius incident for Vlad to charge him with plotting out the revamp programme. He'd drawn up the regime easily enough, having only just converted to soy himself, and gritted his teeth as Vlad, Erin and Jonno openly scoured his plans for anything suspicious. When Vlad had taken him with him to the street-fangs' lair, he'd hoped that the message had been received: Bertrand was on Vlad's side, loyal to him forevermore.

It had been three and a half weeks after the Sethius incident when Vlad summoned him to his coffin. They'd made up for lost time, and if the Chosen One had employed a little more fang than usual, well, Bertrand wasn't complaining. Vlad was finally, truly letting him in again, letting his guard down.

When they finally collapsed, spent, there was silence for a moment. Vlad broke it, voice cold.  
"You need to leave so I can sleep."

Vlad still didn't trust him.


	59. SCRAP

**A thinky Bertrand ficlet. Because why not? The first fic from my notebook this weekend. Enjoy.**

**Spoilers up to 4x06 (to be on the safe side).  
**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Bertrand couldn't help but have a bit of a soft spot for the SCRAP kids. He'd never admit it, of course, but the fact remained.

When he and Vlad had first met them, he hadn't been keen on the idea, it was true. Tangling with street-fangs was asking for trouble in more ways than one, and Bertrand had found himself taking advantage of the high ground - well, upturned crate - that Vlad had retreated to, scanning the faces in front of him anxiously. It had at least been some relief that none were familiar.

Once they'd arrived at Garside - after that minor unfortunate footballing mishap, which everyone at the school seemed to have reached a tacit agreement never to speak of again - Bertrand couldn't really fault them. Yes, they were a handful, Malik especially, and they had no respect for him whatsoever, but who _did_ respect him these days? Bertrand, however begrudgingly, had to admit to himself that _he _respected _them_. After all, he'd only recently been through the Revamp process himself, and he knew how hard it was. They were going through the same ordeal, and for far lesser rewards. Not that he himself had gained anything for his efforts - all he'd wanted was to prove his loyalty and it seemed that had failed. Still, he'd believed that was what he was working towards, and as far as he could tell Vlad had given the SCRAP kids no real incentive to stay. Bertrand often found himself wondering why Malik kept them here.

Malik himself, for all his cheek and bravado and for all that he was the unquestioned leader of a street-fang gang, was just a boy, playing at being a rough, tough man of the world. So Bertrand let things slide, didn't overreact to the constant jibes about age and infirmity the boy tossed his way. He let him think he'd won, even occasionally let it seem as if he needed the help of the Chosen One himself to discipline a handful of unruly schoolchildren.

He saw a lot in Malik that reminded him of a boy he'd once tutored, long ago. He'd barely taught him for a week before the fool had snapped, sick of the restrictive rules of his bloodline, and tried to stake his whole family, not to mention the small deputation of Council members who'd been visiting at the time and who owed Bertrand their unlives. Boys like that had to be allowed little victories now and then, and Malik was certainly getting no quarter from anyone else.

More than anything, though, Bertrand _understood_ the SCRAP kids in a way nobody else at the school really could. He'd been in their shoes, he'd unlived that unlife - homeless and alone, with nobody to cling to but whatever treacherous scum you washed up with that night. He'd known the thrill of the hunt, the desperate hunger that came with not knowing where your next meal would come from or how fast it could run. He'd felt the strange, resentful pride that came with knowing exactly how to block your prey's routes to every church in your territory, exactly how many allies you'd need to make it work or how long you'd have to wait before you could make a solo kill. He'd trusted nobody and survived on his instincts; he'd pulled together a gang and ruled them with a fist of iron; he'd sold them out to save his own skin; he'd worked his way steadily up through the ranks of another ragtag group and ditched them when he no longer had any use for them. He'd _been_the SCRAP kids.

He understood. He sympathised. He cared.  
Above all, he hoped that having _one_ person on their side might help.


	60. Disagreement

**I have no idea where this came from. Inspired by 3x01 and 4x06 so spoilers for both of those. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

As Vlad disappeared down the stairs, Ingrid arrived from above.

"My little brother's ignoring you, then, Bertrand?" He narrowed his eyes suspiciously as she sat herself down on a step and continued to talk in a gentle tone he didn't trust. "It's not just you. When Erin first arrived, he was all for me helping him outvote Dad... until I said I wanted her gone. Suddenly, I didn't get a vote."  
"He's the Chosen One, it's-"  
"-Not a democracy, I know. But there's something you should understand about my little brother. What you say only matters to him until you disagree with him."

Bertrand sighed; that much was true, it seemed.  
"Why are you telling me this?"  
"So you know I understand. And _I'd_ listen to you."  
"Even if what I was saying wasn't what you wanted to hear?" She smirked, leaning forward as she stood, affording him quite the view.  
"Right now, all I want to hear is you moaning my name. Think you can manage that?"

He hesitated, glancing down the stairs and then back up at her. Vlad wouldn't care, he realised with a surge of bitterness. He wasn't betraying anyone if he just gave Ingrid what she wanted. He raked his eyes daringly over her body and smiled.  
"I think so... with a little help."


	61. Easy

**Another random little thinky fic, more to explain the attitude of Ingrid in some of these Blood Droplets than to tie in with the show at all.**

**SPOILERS UP TO 4x06.  
**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.  
**

Ingrid knew it bothered her brother, the way men just fell at her feet. It had annoyed her, too, once upon a time. She'd fallen in love with the only boy in school who _didn't_ fawn over her, and they'd been happy. Will; if he hadn't got himself turned to dust, she truly believed she would have stayed with him forever. She wouldn't have needed anyone else. She _still _didn't need anyone.

But sometimes even Ingrid Dracula had moments of doubt. There had been one such moment when her mother had appeared at Garside, all sickly-sweet smiles and scathing put-downs calculated to reduce her self-worth to an all-time low. When Magda vanished, she'd set out to prove to herself that she could have any man she wanted.

Bertrand had been first, and most difficult; it had taken a lot of careful scheming to get them to a place where she could seem to benefit him as well as the reverse. She'd had to engineer a situation where doing what she wanted appeared to be the best thing for her brother. Still, he'd fallen to temptation in the end, and she'd moved on to her next conquest. She'd seduced her brother's girlfriend, next, just for fun. She'd been bored. She supposed, judging by how easy it had been to convince her, that Erin had been bored too.

Jonno, once the ceasefire had been established, didn't need to be asked twice. Ramanga had practically _begged_her to let him into her coffin, but she was having more fun leading him on.

Malik, though; Malik had said no. She couldn't say that hadn't stung, but she'd also be lying if she claimed it didn't intrigue her. She would see about his apparent immunity to her charms. She would see exactly what it would take to change his mind.

Besides, she still had something to prove.


	62. Care

**Another story from my notebook while the laptop's on the blink. To the Anon who requested some Ingrid/Malik: this is probably the closest you'll get until a theory of mine is confirmed or debunked for sure. I hope it tides you over!**

**SPOILERS UP TO 4x06**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

_"Why do you care?"  
"I just do! ...Care."_**  
**Ingrid replayed the scene over and over in her head, staring up at her coffin lid. She hadn't imagined it, she was sure; there'd been _something_ between them. How could she have been so wrong about his feelings towards her?

And to think, she'd turned down a seat - _her_ seat - on the High Council for him. At least, that was what she'd told him. The truth was, she'd done it for _her_. Ramanga had thought she would be his obedient little wife, that he knew how to _handle_ her. He thought she was an object to be bought and used.  
_"No, you're not; you're a ruthless psychopath who craves fresh blood and raw power."_

She'd been toying with Ramanga, it was true, stringing him along - just as she'd seen her mother do, on countless occassions - to get what she wanted. She'd never had any intention to marry him; the proposal had been the last thing she'd expected.

But for all her pride and principles, she might have done it, for the promise of a Council seat - a seat her husband could legally prevent her from taking. She was still of the opinion that the system was broken and needed to be changed - Vampiress Liberation! - but she didn't need to sleep with some old coffin-lodger to do that. She would take her rightful place in her _own_ name, and Malik had helped her to remember that at a crucial moment.

_"I thought we were friends."_ Ingrid supposed she could forgive him, just this once. He was probably the best friend she'd ever had.


	63. Thirsty

**First of three short one-shots I wrote on my phone last night and emailed to myself.**

**SPOILERS UP TO 4x07.**

**Disclaimer: The show is not mine.**

Bertrand hadn't had time to drink anything all day. He'd been thirsty. That was what he'd told Ingrid when, much later, after it was all over and Erin had succumbed to sleep, she'd asked why he'd offered to bite the girl.  
"And I think you'll find the proper term is 'threatened'."

She hadn't seemed convinced, but that didn't matter. She would assume that his true motive was to remove the distraction that was keeping Vlad from dealing with the street-fangs. It wasn't so far off the mark, anyway. She would think herself so clever, the only one to notice his fondness for the little class of addicts and misfits, and he would let her. He had, after all, come to care about them, and there was no sense in denying that she was the perceptive one of the family.

Of course, that wasn't the full story. Bertrand du Fortunesa never buried his true motives a mere one level deep. No, there were more reasons layered under more lies. He'd wanted to bite someone, anyone, and this was the best excuse he was ever likely to have; he'd wanted to make the slayer miserable; he'd thought he might be able to gain power from the shards of the stone embedded in Erin's skin. If pushed, if someone realised the upper levels of his deceptions were nothing more than clever, pretty lies, he would begrudgingly admit to any of these reasons for his actions.

What he would never admit to was the truth; that he had wanted Vlad to be happy. Erin meant a lot to the Chosen One, which meant that despite their history it was Bertrand's duty to protect her. He wanted Vlad to be strong, and decisive, and lead the vampire race into the future, and Erin could help with all those things. But more than anything, he wanted Vlad to be the warm, contented, sensitive ruler Bertrand had chastised him for being before the Count and Ramanga had forced the pair apart. He wanted Vlad to get the happiness he deserved.

Now it seemed all hope of that was gone. If only he hadn't been stopped, if only he had bitten her - it would have been _him_ Erin despised, and things could have gone on as they always had. Vlad would have hated him too, of course, but he could have been happy.

That was all Bertrand wanted.


	64. Angry

**: Not mine.**

_He'd been angry when Vlad had ignored his concerns; the rising slayings were a real problem that needed addressing. Why couldn't the Chosen One see that? Instead of the plight of his people - people he was destined to rule - all he seemed to care about was Erin._

_Bertrand could feel his face darkening. If Vlad wouldn't act, it was up to his valet to take matters into his own fangs._

_He'd taken the Book and snatched Erin, tried to force the boy's hand or fix things himself. It had ended badly._

He'd been angry when Vlad had ignored his concerns; the rogue street-fangs were a real problem that needed addressing. Why couldn't the Chosen One see that? Instead of the plight of his people - people he had uprooted and bent to his will - all he seemed to care about was Erin.

Bertrand could feel his face darkening. If Vlad wouldn't act, it was up to his valet to take matters into his own fangs.

He pulled himself back with difficulty from the dark, dangerous path he'd been about to stumble down again. Outright rebellion and brute force would do him no good here, and he suspected sitting at Erin's deathbed while Bertrand's SCRAP class ran wild wasn't healthy for Vlad either. He appealed instead to the Chosen One's emotions, to the very love for the slayer that was keeping the boy here.

"I'm not leaving without you," he said, and he meant it. If Vlad refused to move, if his class tore the ceasefire apart and kicked off a vampire war, Bertrand would be by his side to support him all the way. He wasn't going to make the same mistakes again. It was a relief when Vlad finally saw sense and took off to deal with the rebels.

The relief didn't last long; Vlad wasted no time in reducing a handful of his students - some of them had been among the most promising, and had fallen off the wagon hardest - to handfuls of dust. The boy was showing about as much regard for unlife as Sethius had, and it seemed nothing Bertrand said made a difference. Something inside Vlad had changed with the first threat of separation from Erin - the moment he'd been told of his engagement - and it seemed her imminent death was increasing the effect.

He'd thought, when he'd first met Vlad, that this - this cold, heartless killer who thrust temptation at addicts and reduced them to dust for even thinking about it - was what he wanted, what the Chosen One needed to be. Now he just wanted the old, innocent Vlad back. Bertrand had changed, but so had his ruler.

He still wasn't what Vlad needed.


	65. Changed

**And the last of the fics I wrote on my phone last night. Enjoy, though it's not a cheerful one!**

**SPOILERS FOR 4x07**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

No one - except, perhaps, Erin herself - had been as surprised as Bertrand was that he was the one comforting the new half-fang as she jolted back into consciousness.

One moment she'd been out cold, and he'd been sitting nearby keeping a close eye on the broken figure of Vlad. The next, she was sitting up, terrified and disorientated, and he had his arms around her, lending his support both physically and emotionally as he assured her she was alright. She was going to be alright.

Everyone in the room knew that wasn't quite true; perhaps that was why no other voice offered reassurance. Vlad had explained what he'd done, and Erin had been furious, and for once Bertrand hadn't rushed to Vlad's side. He'd stayed with his old enemy without really thinking about it, without wondering why.

Once he did stop to think, though, it wasn't hard to figure out why he'd been the one to reassure the girl, even as she spat treason. Of everyone in the room, he alone had experienced what she was going through. He remembered how it felt.

_He'd woken in an unfamiliar room, on an unfamiliar floor. He'd sat up, feeling short of breath, and made a dash for the door, only to find it locked. That was when he'd realised that despite his panic, his heart wasn't pounding. His recent memory swam into focus and he knew, with dreadful certainty, that it never would again._

_He'd had two options - keep panicking and throwing himself uselessly against the door until he completely lost his mind, or sit down and try to think calmly and rationally about his plight. What was to become of him?_

_When his sire had come to entrust him with the book, he had raged at him - not just for biting him, killing him, but for leaving him to suffer the change alone. He'd discovered that though his sire obviously expected his loyalty, he actually only felt compelled to follow direct orders. He would later learn that the loyalty transferred by the bite took days, sometimes weeks, to kick in; at the time, all that mattered was that his sire had never directly ordered him not to drive a stake through his chest._

_The loyalty, when it came, had been transferred to the Book, to the Chosen One, to his sire's last order. In all honesty, it had been a relief to slip into thrall like that. When, a year or so later, the effect had worn off, he'd seen no reason to change course. Erin had no such mission; Erin would need their support._

And there was the rub; no half-fang had ever told a born vampire what it was like to be turned. Most assumed that it was like a mirror transformation; a mildly uncomfortable struggle with a darker side of yourself, a struggle you could never really win but would walk away from stronger.

They didn't know, because they had no reason to know, that most of the numbing agents released during a bite would be wasted while the victim was unconcious. That hours after waking, the wound would begin to hurt, like an unbearable burning coldness under the skin, making it impossible to focus on anything but the agony. Bertrand knew; Ryan had known, and so it was possible that even Erin knew what awaited her now.

Born vampires knew that the transformation took time, that it varied in speed depending on a vast number of factors. What they didn't understand was that until the change was complete, the half-fang's living mind would fight, rebelling against the situation and even itself, making the world a terrifying, infuriating, maddening place it could never escape.

Bertrand hoped Erin was as strong and adaptable as Vlad had always thought, as he held her up and told her over and over that she was alright, that it would be alright, ignoring Ingrid's curious gaze and Vlad's near-catatonic guilt, no doubt his next problem. For now, he was focused on Erin. No one deserved to face this alone.


	66. Dibs

**Just a little bit of random slashy Vlerty fluff for fun, because it's been ****_angsty_**** lately. I love a bit of angst but let's not drown in it. *Tries to remember this***

**Spoilers up to 4x03 I guess?**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

It had taken days of research on Bertrand's part to find the potion, and hours to brew it. Now he held it out to Vlad.  
"Are you sure you really want to do this?" Vlad grimaced.  
"Anything to save marrying Adze. Cheers." He raised the potion in a mock toast, then downed it.

"What happened to you?" The Count and Ingrid glared at each other, both speaking at once before turning back to Vlad.  
"Freak potions accident, I'm a girl now. Guess this means I can't get married."  
"Nonsense!" The Count cried, "We'll just have to find you a _husband_."

Before Ramanga could do more than show the tips of his fangs in a leer, Bertrand had reached out to grip Vlad's shoulder firmly.  
"Dibs."


	67. Stuffed

**Just a random little there-is-not-enough-Zoltan-in-the-world fic. Enjoy. Not angst, for once! Set... probably between series 3 and 4.**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

The boy was terrified of Zoltan. Or maybe he was afraid of _becoming_ Zoltan. The hellhound wasn't quite sure. But the first time he saw him, standing in Vlad's room counting the stitches on Mr Cuddles for the fifteenth time in an attempt to amuse himself, he'd dropped his own toy and run off making heart-breaking whimpering noises before Zoltan could even move, let alone speak.

The boy was no coward, at any rate - _definitely_ not the Count's son - and ten minutes later the door crept open again.  
"Pup?" For a moment, Zoltan was offended, until he realised the boy hadn't been talking to him. He swept the toy up off the floor and clung, whispering in its ear. "We have to run away."  
"Now why would you want to do a thing like that, Master Barry?" It hadn't, after all, been hard to deduce the boy's identity.

He barely managed to keep hold of the bear; it seemed he hadn't expected the hellhound to _speak_.  
"You're alive!" Zoltan rolled his eyes.  
"In a manner of speaking, certainly. Why would you want to run away?" Barry's eyes widened.  
"We have to. Please don't tell Vlad." The hound tilted his head.  
"_Why_ do you have to, Master Barry?" The boy shrugged.  
"Most people just call me Wolfie."  
"Would you prefer it?"  
"...Yeah."  
"Then, Master _Wolfie_, why would you need to leave?"

The boy scuffed his feet on the floor, clutching his bear tightly to his chest.  
"It's full moon next week. And I'm a werewolf. I don't want to be stuffed!" Zoltan couldn't help but let out a low bark of laughter.  
"The Draculas won't _stuff_ you, Master Wolfie. For one thing, I am a hellhound, not a werewolf. For another, I would have died if the Count's father hadn't had me stuffed. It's actually quite peaceful, being on a trolley with wheels. It means I do not have to go downstairs, where all the drama and shouting is." He wouldn't mention that frankly embarrassing incident with the camera, back in Stokely.

Wolfie stared at him.  
"So you don't mind?" Zoltan shook his head. "Do you... bite?"  
"Only when I am hungry." The boy had begun to reach out, but he shrank back. "And I am not."  
"Can I... do you want a cuddle?" Zoltan didn't answer, and so the boy edged closer and stroked his head, carefully, as if he thought the hellhound might change his mind about the biting. Zoltan sighed contentedly and Wolfie, reassured, wrapped his arms around him, still clutching Pup.  
"It has been a long time since I've had _cuddles_," Zoltan remarked, "Vlad hardly talks to me now except when he needs a mirror."

The boy smiled at him nervously.  
"Vlad's scary. I like Ingrid better. Maybe you could live with her?" Zoltan shook his head decidedly; no, he and Mistress Ingrid were _not_ on the best of terms. "Then why don't you live in my room?" Zoltan looked around; the room he was in at the moment was no longer that of a child who needed a hellhound friend. It was the room of a young man with no time for a mangy old hellhound whose sawdust leaked and whose wheels were in dire need of oiling. He looked up at Wolfie, who'd been so afraid just minutes before, who told his cuddly toy all his plans and had nobody to advise him. He made his decision.  
"That would be lovely, Master Wolfie. Thank you."


	68. Tsar

**Just a little Dracufluff, with possibly _one_ painful line. Written before seeing 4x10. Enjoy****.**

**SPOILERS up to 4x09.  
**

**Disclaimer: Not my show, not my characters.  
**

"Oh, _do _go away, Renfield. Can't you see we're trying to have some family time?" The servant had barely taken a step towards the door when the Count grabbed him and muttered a string of instructions.

A long, silent minute later - a minute Ingrid spent checking her hair for singed strands and Malik spent watching her check - Renfield reappeared with a bottle, of which he was swiftly relieved. The Count shooed him away again and unstopped the blood himself. Ingrid spotted the label and sat up, intrigued despite herself.  
"Tsar? What's the occasion?" Her father raised an eyebrow and began to pour.  
"Being undead, daughter of mine." He filled three goblets and passed her one; she frowned suspiciously but Malik was already sipping at his and he seemed fine.

They toasted silently and drank, but then the Count spoke again. "There's nothing quite like a near-dust experience to remind one just how much family means, how _important_ it is."

Malik tensed, then drained his goblet and stood.  
"Sorry," he shrugged, "stuff to do." Then he sped off, leaving the Count looking so crestfallen that even the Princess of Darkness couldn't bear to see it.  
"It's probably just hard for him," she sipped again at her Tsar before he could change his mind and take it back, "after being on his own all these years." The Count looked at her as if he'd never laid eyes on her before, nodding slowly.

Outside the room, Ingrid could hear doors slamming as Vlad stormed through the quarters.  
"RENFIELD! Cleanup on aisle three!" She neither knew nor cared what _that_ was about, bracing herself for the inevitable sting of abandonment as her father was reminded of his _favourite _child.

"Oh, bats, I'd forgotten about him," the Count grumbled, "boys at that age are such a _handful._" He leant across with the bottle of Tsar to top up her goblet with a weary smile. "You'll stay and keep your dear old dad company, won't you, Ingrid?" She should have sneered at him; she knew it couldn't last. But she'd wanted his approval, wanted a real, proper dad, for so long that it made her jaw hurt when she tried to supress a smile. She stopped trying.  
"Of course I will." She took a daringly large sip from her goblet and held it out for another refill. "After all, _someone's_ got to help you drink all this."


	69. Time

**Something Erin said in 4x10 kind of set this off in my head somehow. Tell you what, it seemed a lot longer when I was typing it up on my phone. Enjoy.**

**Spoilers: nothing past the end of series 2**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

It couldn't do any harm, she reasoned. Besides, it wasn't as if it seemed difficult - she'd read up on the theory, after all, and once, when she was very young, she'd caught a glimpse through the crack of a door and seen one of her father's half-fangs doing it for another.

She hadn't appreciated the significance at the time, of course, but now she found herself straining her memory, reading and rereading the relevant pages of the books she was using for references, determined that she should get this right. Nobody had ever explained this to her, but it had to be perfect first time. She had to do this well, for Will.

She scanned the page one last time, stood and straightened her clothes before gathering what she needed and making her way to the room where she'd last seen her boyfriend. It was stupid to feel self-conscious, she knew; it was just her and Will, and it was time.

She raised her banner, portrait of her lost love hanging proudly at the top, and began to walk.


	70. A Word

**CRACK FIC! Slash. I asked someone to give me a word as a prompt and then I wrote this based on 'a word' while I was waiting. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"Bertrand, a word in your ear, if I may." He followed the Count meekly to his office, wondering which of Vlad's indiscretions he was to be scolded for now. "It has been brought to my attention that you've been engaging in a great deal of 'extra training' with my Vladdy." His tone of voice left no doubt in Bertrand's mind; the Chosen One's father knew exactly what tutor and student had been doing behind closed doors.

He tried to keep his face neutral as he waited to hear his punishment.  
"I'd like to offer you a pay rise."  
"I understand. I'll- what?" He took a moment to steady his thoughts. "In exchange for staying away from Vlad?"  
"Garlic, _no_. You're good for him, you put that healthy pallor back in his cheeks. The other day he even _hissed_ at the breather girl. In fact-" he patted his pockets, withdrawing a crisp ten-pound note. "Take this, as a bonus."

Bertrand reached out, half convinced he was just having a very strange dream. The Count broke the illusion, leaning forwards as the money changed hands to hiss into Bertrand's ear.  
"There's a breather apothecary on the corner. Be _safe_." And with that rather menacing clue as to why Bertrand was holding money, his boyfriend's father opened the door and ushered him out of it.

They would never speak of it again.


	71. Jealous

**Redrachxo wanted me to write Vlad being jealous of Bertrand's wealth of past lovers and being reassured. Slash. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"You've had lovers before, right?" Bertrand frowned; he didn't like to dwell on his time before Vlad.  
"Yes." The boy trailed his hand down his tutor's chest.  
"Many?"  
"Quite a few." Vlad looked up at him.  
"How many?" Bertrand grimaced; even without counting the prey, on those rare occasions he'd played with his food...  
"I'm not sure." Pale fingers curled into his shirt.  
"How long was your longest... um... affair?" Bertrand winced, knowing his answer wouldn't please Vlad.  
"Nearly three and a half centuries."

Sure enough, Vlad's fingers curled tighter into his shirt, digging into his skin. He probably wasn't even aware of it.  
"Oh." A pause. "...Who? A man, a woman?" Bertrand sighed.  
"His name was Eliseo Mondadori. Mori, to his friends, and death to his enemies." The description rolled off his tongue unbidden; habitual, automatic. He shifted so that he could look down into Vlad's eyes. "You saw him once, briefly." He watched the Chosen One put two and two together.  
"Sethius dusted him." He nodded, looking away to hide the shame in his eyes at the memory of his betrayal.

Vlad was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, he sounded almost fearful.  
"If he hadn't, would you still be together?" Startled, he glanced down to see Vlad biting his lip.  
"No! No, ours was a... a bond of convenience. When there was nobody else... But then I met you and there could _be_ nobody else." Vlad still seemed thoughtful.  
"He loved you." Bertrand laughed at that; the idea was preposterous.  
"No. It was a purely carnal arrangement between friends. There were no feelings involved." Vlad shook his head stubbornly.  
"He loved you. I don't blame him. But for you... Just sex?"  
"Yes."  
"Is this... Are we just sex?"  
"Vlad, I've barely even kissed you. This is different." He'd certainly never just cuddled up and talked with any of his other lovers. He was glad; it was something just for them, him and Vlad. Together; he could hardly believe it.

As if sensing Bertrand's doubts, Vlad sat up to straddle him, pinning him down on the training room floor to kiss him until his head spun.  
"I've never had a lover," he confided, as if Bertrand didn't already know that, "will you teach me?"


	72. Fix

**And then, because I'm a nice person, I offered y'all a handy little Vlerty reset button. Here that is. Enjoy!**

**Set shortly after 3x13: SPOILERS UP TO 4x09.**

**Disclaimer: Series = not mine.**

"Bertie," Vlad murmured softly, "it's alright, it was just a dream. Just a horrible dream." He felt himself relax a fraction as a pale hand ran through his soft curls.

He'd woken with a start, minutes earlier, clutching at Vlad's back in a panic. It had taken him a few moments to realise that he was lying in Vlad's coffin, that there was no stake in his chest. By then, of course, Vlad was awake and concerned.  
"Sh, shh, you're okay. Tell me all about it. I'm here, I'm listening." He'd blurted out the whole sorry tale, sobbing in Vlad's arms.

Now, as the Chosen One stroked his hair, more words came tumbling out.  
"Vlad, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry about the Book. Please don't hate me, I'd rather you sent me away than hate-" Vlad interrupted, voice soft but firm, pulling him deeper into his arms.  
"I think the fact we're having this conversation in my coffin shows I've already forgiven you. More than forgiven; I know you were trying to help."

* * *

Bertrand brushed his tears away as if they burned, refusing to meet Vlad's gaze. "Bertie. Imagine what could have happened if Erin and I really had opened the Book on our own." His eyes, wide and horrified, did snap to the Chosen One's face then, and Vlad reached out to touch his cheek before continuing. "You saved me."  
"I betrayed you."  
"I _love_ you."

Bertrand blinked, stunned. It would be a long time before he accepted the declaration of love, Vlad knew, and longer before he returned it. He didn't mind; he understood. Bertrand pressed gentle lips against his in lieu of words, hesitantly returning Vlad's smile as he pulled back to speak again.  
"If I ever treat you - anyone, _especially _you - that badly, you have my permission to lock me in the slime pit Dad thinks I don't know about until I behave. I'll never hurt you like that. Alright?" He kissed him again as he nodded.

"Anything else bothering you?" Bertrand half-frowned.  
"Do you have to call me Bertie?" Vlad trailed a hand down his lover's arm, eliciting a contented little sigh before tangling their hands together.  
"Yep." Bertrand didn't seem to mind.


	73. Promise

**Set shortly after 3x13, but it doesn't really have the same punch unless you've watched all the way up to 4x09 so possibly a little bit spoilers for series 4? Slash. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

"I'm sorry for what I did." Bertrand was kneeling at Vlad's feet, and the boy looked a little uncomfortable. He would have to get used to it, his tutor knew; as the Chosen One, he was bound to have people bowing and scraping for the rest of his unlife.  
"Bertrand, get up. It's alright, I shouldn't have ignored you. You won't do it again, right?" Bertrand shook his head, still on his knees. Of course he wouldn't.  
"I will accept any punishment you wish to give me."

Vlad frowned at him for a moment, then reached down and pulled him up to a standing position.  
"You don't need to be punished, Bertrand. Just don't do it again." Bertrand stared down at their hands; Vlad hadn't let go yet and Bertrand found he didn't want him to.  
"You should stake me; I'm a danger to you, a traitor." Vlad shook his head.  
"No, I won't. That's not... I won't do that. Don't make me regret it."  
"If I ever turn on you again, Vlad, whatever I say, however I try to talk my way out of it, please... Promise me you will. That you'll stake me to protect yourself."

The Chosen One stared at him in horror, but Bertrand wasn't backing down, holding eye contact until finally Vlad nodded.  
"I promise." He pressed a kiss to Bertrand's knuckles. "Promise me you won't give me a reason to."  
"I promise. I'll never betray you again."

They stood awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed after the strange, stilted exchange of vows.

In the end, Vlad pulled him into a hug.


	74. Ambush

**Should have been working, wrote this instead. Oops. Started as just the first paragraph's scene getting stuck in my head and kind of got out of control. Wouldn't have ended the way it does except the characters started writing themselves. Slash. Enjoy.**

**SPOILERS FOR ALL OF SERIES FOUR.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Vlad hadn't seen the attack coming; the assailant had materialised out of the shadows behind him and pushed him into the nearest wall before he could react, the snap of argentalium at his wrists preventing him from getting away. To his confusion, he could still move his hands; the fangcuffs seemed to have been specially doctored so that they were no longer chained together. Instead, it was as if he'd been shoved up against a wall and forced into pretty, power-draining bracelets. He braced his hands against the wall, uncomfortably aware of his attacker – a vampire, they were cold – still pressed against his back.

"What do you-?"  
"_Shh._" The sharp hiss was urgent enough to make Vlad fall silent as footsteps passed noisily and faded into the night. It wasn't until they'd gone that he realised he could have called for help; no breather would have refused aid to a boy in handcuffs, surely, and vampires had to obey – but apparently not every vampire was so keen. He could only assume that the man pinning him to the wall wanted him to abandon the peace plan; at least, he hoped that was what he was after. The idea that his attacker didn't know who he was, had selected his victim for entirely different reasons, made his skin crawl.

He tried again.  
"Look, if you don't like the ceasefire-"  
"I'd lay down my life for it," the voice admonished quietly, somehow familiar, and the Chosen One frowned, trying to place it, absent-mindedly wondering where on earth his guard detail were. Yes, he'd given them the slip, but they should have caught up by now, the incompetent buffoons- something was definitely familiar about the man holding him. The firm grip on his elbows, the way one leg was braced against the back of one of Vlad's, keeping him in place... he'd experienced it all before, but _where?_ "I just need to talk to you without you attacking me."  
"Why?" He kept his voice as insolent as he could despite the mounting confusion, "Attacking people's only alright when you do it, is it?"

He wasn't expecting the sadness in his captor's chuckle.  
"You haven't changed." He also wasn't expecting the way his entire body tingled at the sound of that bittersweet laughter. He ignored it as the other man spoke again. "You should be aware that there is a plot against you. Your father isn't the only vampire with unexpected offspring to spare; Ramanga has a son by Amirmoez's wife. His cuckoo-heir is plotting against you; you must be on your guard. You can afford no mercy when he's caught." The voice, the calm, firm tone, the way he was telling him what to do; he almost reminded him of... The key to the argentalium bracelets was placed in his hand, but his informant didn't step back. "I'm sorry for being so forceful. It was important." Then the weight of him moved away from Vlad's back and he knew that he had only seconds before the other vampire took flight. If he hesitated, he would never know who had been behind this. He spoke softly, hardly daring to hope.  
"Bertrand?"

The sound of a cape being hurriedly readied for takeoff stopped, and he turned slowly to find his former tutor frozen in horror. He took a step towards him but the older vampire darted backwards, checking the sky above him for anything that would impair his imminent escape. The Chosen One couldn't believe it; Bertrand, undead. Bertrand, right there in front of him. He raised his arms as if to hug him, wincing as the other man's face set into a grim line and his body tensed like a coiled spring, ready to flee. Of course; a hug was what had taken Bertrand from him in the first place. Which reminded him.  
"How-?"  
"Forget I was ever here." Bertrand meant it, he could tell, but Vlad didn't want to forget. He wanted his friend back, he wanted to finally have the chance to make things right.  
"I watched you turn to dust _three years ago_, Bertrand, so how are you here?" He'd forgotten how loyal, how obedient his tutor was; however reluctantly, he always answered the Chosen One.  
"The bone. I didn't know it would... but somehow it saved me. Restored me, a year later. I remain undead..." He didn't say _no thanks to you_ but Vlad heard the accusation echoing in his own heart anyway.

"I knew you felt familiar. Blood, Bertrand, you've been undead for two years? Why didn't you come back?"  
"I thought I wasn't welcome. The last time I saw you-"  
"You tried to help, and I killed you." He was ashamed to say it, but he couldn't deny what he'd done. "Please, don't leave. Let me try to show you I've learnt my lesson."

Bertrand hesitated, but he didn't move away when Vlad stepped forward, showing his open hands before pulling him into a hug at last.  
"I know you've become a great leader." Arms folded hesitantly around him as Bertrand lowered his voice to the barest whisper, as if he was half-hoping Vlad wouldn't hear him. "I've missed you every day since it happened." He didn't know if he meant since he'd been staked or since he'd returned, but it didn't matter. It gave him the confidence to reach up and claim a kiss he knew he didn't deserve, brief and chaste though it was.  
"You too." Bertrand blinked, and then his mouth was on Vlad's again, hungry and demanding but gentle as ever, Vlad pulling him by his shirt until he was backed up against the same wall Bertrand had pinned him to just moments before. Bertrand broke away easily, Vlad still powerless in his argentalium bracelets – where was the key now? Oh, well. They'd find it – and frowned at him for a moment.  
"This doesn't mean I've..." He stopped, as if he knew _forgiving_ the Chosen One wasn't something he could claim the right to do. "It doesn't mean it doesn't hurt." The admission sounded painful in itself, but Vlad understood.

"I'm sorry, Bertrand, I'm so sorry for what I did to you. What kind of love did I show you, back then? But I've changed, I promise, and I _do-_" Bertrand cut him off.  
"If you hadn't loved me, my _betrayal_ wouldn't have hurt so much." He shrugged. "And if I hadn't loved you, I wouldn't have stayed at Garside to walk onto your stake."

Vlad sighed; Bertrand couldn't honestly have taken his own murder as a sign of affection? Of course he could; he'd never known what love was _supposed _to be like. Vlad was the only person he'd ever shared that bond with, and he hadn't shown him. He kissed him again, an apology and a promise and a selfish demand all at once.  
"Let me get it right this time."

Bertrand nodded and pulled him back in.


	75. Ceasefire

**Sorry, bit cruel to post this at Christmas but there we go, that's how I am. Enjoy!**

**SPOILERS FOR ALL OF SERIES FOUR**

**Disclaimer: None of it's mine.**

The Headmistress of Garside Grange didn't mind what her staff did in their personal lives as long as it didn't affect their work. So when Mr Du Fortunesa turned up to take a class with what appeared to be a bony finger dangling from his neck, she didn't ask questions. Instead, she told him his hair looked very smart straightened and made a polite enquiry about where he'd got his impressive new coat.

Erin had caught her staring, a few days later, and explained everything.  
"Creepy necklace, right? Band merch. He's really gotten into this weird goth-metal group Vlad made him listen to. _Ceasefire_, or something. Personally I think he just likes scaring the Year Eights." Alex smiled at the girl.  
"Well, each to their own. I can't imagine Bertrand all... 'gothed up'," she pronounced the air quotes, "to go to a concert, I must say." Erin smiled brightly at her.  
"Neither can I. Oh, I hope they tour, I'd love to see that."

* * *

Bertrand seemed to grow more tired and irritable as the term went on, but Erin shrugged it off when, meeting her by chance in the corridor, Alex ventured to mention it.  
"Vlad's been keeping him up at nights." She blushed; she hadn't been expecting that, and it seemed too much information. Still, Vlad no longer being a student, she had no objection to their being in a relationship.

Erin's eyes widened as she followed her former headmistress' train of thought. "Not like that, he's trying to- I mean, planning- he's helping keep an eye on the street f... Kids." Alex wasn't entirely convinced that was taking up _all_ his nights, but she let it slide and quietly reduced his hours as much as she could, hoping he'd take the chance to get some sleep.

* * *

The next time she saw Erin, she seemed different, though she couldn't put a finger on why.  
"Bertrand hasn't confirmed any supply classes in weeks, I've had to cover everything. It's not like him; is something wrong?" Erin's gaze slipped to her throat and lingered there for an uncomfortably long moment before snapping back up to her face.  
"He's gone." The girl's eyes flickered down to her bat necklace, and the staring soon made more sense. "Chasing that band, you know, the one he wore that weird necklace for? He always liked to move around." She raised her voice, smiling sweetly over Alex's shoulder. "I suppose you could say he gave up his life here for Ceasefire."

Alex glanced round in time to see Vlad storm off.  
"He's not taking it well?" Erin shrugged.  
"Probably hoped Bertrand would choose him over a chance with the lead singer of Ceasefire. I think they both thought they had a lot more in common than they did. Now if you'll excuse me - you should head home, it's almost dark, and I need my dinner." Touched by her concern, Alex decided she _had_ been working too hard and it was time to call it a night.

It was strange; Bertrand had never struck her as the flighty type. Still, she hoped that somehow his blind love for a public figure who'd probably never even acknowledge him would make him happy.

He would be missed at Garside, that much was certain.


	76. Sides

**A bit of a request fic for RainingHotdogs, who reminded me that it's been a while since I wrote another of my favourite pairings. Hope this is the kind of thing you were thinking of! Femslash. Enjoy.**

**SPOILERS for up to 4x08**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

Bertrand had finally left her in peace, but Erin wondered if the fussing mightn't actually be better than sitting alone in her room with nothing to distract her from her thoughts. It was amazing how quickly she changed her mind the moment she heard the knock on the door.

"Go away, Vlad, I don't-"  
"It's not Vlad." Ingrid pushed the door open and slipped inside. Erin didn't even sit up in her coffin.  
"I'm not forgiving him."  
"I wouldn't expect you to." Erin did look at her then. "In fact, I'd be disappointed." She came to perch on the edge of the coffin. "I came to see how you were."  
"What do you really want, Ingrid?" The older girl actually had the nerve to look hurt. "If you care so much, why didn't you come earlier?"

Ingrid sighed.  
"I'm not a half-fang." Erin bristled; was there no limit to the snobbery of vampires? "You needed Bertrand, and space." There was a long silence. "So I'll ask again. How are you, Erin?"  
"Technically, you never actually asked in the first place." Ingrid's glare was enough to curdle blood - not that Erin was thirsty, she refused to be thirsty, she'd told Bertrand as much - and she realised the older girl was still waiting for an answer. "...I've had better days. I got locked in a coffin, hit by a fireball, thrown off a roof, and my boyfriend - _ex_-boyfriend - turned me into a vampire even though I specifically told him not to. So yeah, I'm just great."

Ingrid surprised her then, reaching over to squeeze her hand.  
"I tried to stop him. I mean, not that I _wanted_ you to die, exactly, but... you made it pretty clear_ you_ did." Erin nodded grimly.  
"And now I'm stuck being loyal to Vlad forever." Ingrid shook her head.  
"Not if he was in love with you." She paused, and something in the deliberate way she looked away suggested she knew more than she was letting on. "Or if you were in love with somebody else."

Erin sat up slowly, eyes fixed on Ingrid, but the other girl seemed completely disinterested and was staring at the floor a few metres away. The newly-turned half-fang sighed.  
"How long have you known?" Ingrid shrugged; the gesture seemed strange somehow, coming from Ingrid Dracula.  
"A while. I wondered why you didn't leave him."  
"We were barely together, with Adze and everything... I didn't want her to think she'd _won_." To her surprise, Ingrid turned to her with a wicked smirk.  
"I knew you weren't completely worthless." All of a sudden, she was right in Erin's face, still smirking. "Join me. I'll take care of you, better than Vlad ever could." Erin frowned.  
"As a half-fang?" The smirk grew.  
"As a woman. I'll take care of you in _every_ way." Then she leant in and closed her teeth gently over Erin's bottom lip, making her gasp uselessly. "What do you say?"

Erin could only hope that kissing her back was sufficient answer.


	77. Everything

**So that last fic kinda prompted this one; what if half-fang loyalty dissolved when the half-fang fell in love? By that logic... Slash. Enjoy!**

**SPOILERS for all of series four.**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

Malik changed _everything_.

The moment he walked into the bar, Ingrid's orders in his head ceased to carry the weight they once had.  
"Would you drink this?" _If you were asking me to go for a drink, I'd drink anything, _Ryan thought.  
"No. No, I wouldn't." And then Malik had asked him to join him, and he'd gone without a backward glance, barely registering the truth of Ingrid's words; she had _made_ him, she should have _owned_ him. But, it seemed, she no longer did.

And if Malik had immediately succeeded her as The Boss of Him, well, Ryan didn't mind.

* * *

The new guy wasn't bad looking, and his attentions were more than welcome to inflate Malik's already large ego. When the football match had got crazy, it was Ryan he made sure to take with him as he made a break for the door. The rest of his 'team', he couldn't care less about, but Ryan had to survive.  
"Why me?"  
"Why not?" Then he'd let Ryan show his gratitude in every way the boy knew how to, and he'd returned the favour in a couple of ways that completely blew the half-fang's mind.

He'd usually have made a conquest like that leave as soon as he was sated. He let Ryan stay, wrapped firmly in his arms so he knew he wasn't going to disappear in the night.

* * *

They'd argued about going back to Garside.

Ryan hadn't wanted to walk into the lion's den again - he hadn't wanted to see his sister - he hadn't wanted to risk Ingrid's wrath being turned against Malik. He hadn't wanted Ingrid's _charms_ turned against Malik, either.  
"It's for the best, trust me."  
"I do trust you."

So they went back, and they made an attempt at the Revamp programme, and then they were both put up as candidates for the school Senate. Ryan offered to lose on purpose, but Malik assured him that he wanted nothing less than to be stuck on some poxy school council, and actually Ryan would be doing him a huge favour if he pretended to be trying his best for Ingrid. Then he made it worth his while, in advance.

He died happy, apart from the pain.

* * *

She hadn't told him what would happen.

His mother told him to let Ryan win, and he did, because he really _didn't_ care about the Senate and surely he had enough to be getting on with. He hadn't imagined for a moment that his lover would be turned to dust in front of his eyes, that he would lose everything. Their last conversation had been so mundane, so mind-crushingly dull it almost hurt to think back on it.  
_"Good luck, Malik."_  
_"May the best vamp win."_  
He dealt with the loss as best he could - he ran off with Ryan's sister, the closest alternative he could find. But his relationship with his mother would never be the same; he'd never trust her again after what she'd done to Ryan.

Ryan changed _everything._


	78. Together in Paris

**For Ali-Aislin-Yuki-Li. I hope you like it! Het.**

**SPOILERS for ALL OF SERIES FOUR**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"Are you going to tell me to leave, now?" Erin didn't seem upset in the slightest as she tilted her head at him; a challenge.  
"Why would I do that?" She frowned as if it should be obvious; Malik supposed that was true.  
"You've wound Vlad up, like you wanted; we've been all over the papers together. You have no use for me anymore."  
"This was never about my little brother." She frowned.  
"Then what was it about?" He laughed at her expression and she slapped him on the arm without thinking, not really causing much more effect than a satisfying 'thwack' noise as her hand met his leather jacket.  
"I thought you might like it here. Even with all the garlic in the blood."  
"Paris," she smiled, "very romantic."

He grabbed her and took off; a very short, almost vertical flight later they were standing on the highest observation deck of the Eiffel Tower, looking down at the lights of France.  
"Well," he murmured in her ear, arms wrapped around her from behind, "you deserve romance." His lips trailed over the unscarred right side of her neck - neither of them much liked to dwell on the bite - and she relaxed in his arms. "You deserve better than what he gave you."  
"Think you can do better?"

He smirked, turning her in his arms so he could press their lips together.  
"We're in Paris; what do _you_ think?" His expression softened, becoming more serious. "I know I can. Let me prove it."  
She met his eyes in a long, searching look before kissing him back. When she pulled away, she was smiling.  
"Okay. Prove it."


	79. Reason

**For Vlarinfan4eva. I hope you like it!**

**SPOILERS up to 4x04.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine - if the show was mine Vlad might have been a little more reasonable.**

"Erin, can we talk?" She looked up and sighed.  
"Does Adze know you're talking to me?"  
"It doesn't matter. I'm with _you_, Erin, not her." She nodded, but he could see the tears beginning to form as she looked away.  
"For now."

"Is this bloodbinding thing... does it really mean that much to you?" She turned on him then, eyes blazing.  
"How can you ask me that? Of course it does, you're _marrying_ someone else!" She folded her arms irritably, trying to get her emotions under control. "I mean, I understand, she's pretty enough and she's going to be able to help you unite your people in ways I never could, and you can be together for eternity-"  
"I'm calling it off."  
"and I'm sure you'll have cute little vampire bab- what?" He grinned as she finally registered that he'd spoken.  
"I'm calling it off. Forget uniting the vampires, there are other ways and, well, if I have to throw my weight around a bit I'm sure it'll earn me more respect in the long run than being bullied into marrying someone."

Erin's face had lit up, but now it fell again.

"Oh. So it's a tactical decision." He reached out to stroke her cheek, waiting for her to look him in the eyes.  
"I love you. That's why I'm not marrying her." That brilliant smile reappeared on her face and his cold, dead heart swelled as she threw her arms around him.  
"Oh, Vlad, do you mean it? You're really going to call it off for me?"  
"I really mean it." She kissed him.

It made the prospect of all-out vampire war seem a lot more bearable.


	80. Date

**A challenge of sorts from redrachxo. Het pairings for once, too! Enjoy.**

**SPOILERS up to 4x05.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"I'm having my fangs polished." Vlad nodded and turned to go, but that slap had _really_ hurt.  
"Well... how about after that?" She hesitated, trying to deduce his motives, before a small, genuine smile spread over her face.  
"I'd like that. I should be back by midnight; pick me up here?" He smiled back; she was pretty when she stopped being hateful.  
"See you then."

Erin was less than pleased with this development.  
"Well, I _am_ marrying her, I might as well make an effort."  
"But you're _not_ marrying her, that's the whole point! You're kidnapping her-"  
"Ah, yeah, about that. Change of plan. The kidnap's off."

He'd expected that if Erin ever dumped him, he'd feel crushed. As it turned out, what he felt most was relief.

Whoever had cleaned Adze's fangs had done a fantastic job; they gleamed as she smiled at him when he knocked on her door.  
"You actually showed up. I thought maybe it was some kind of ruse." He laughed nervously and offered her his arm. There was a new film out, and with vampire speed they managed to get into the midnight screening before the end of the trailers. It was nice, actually, having Adze's hand on his arm, and she seemed surprised at how much she'd enjoyed such a breather-like date.  
"You know, you're actually fairly tolerable," she conceded as they made their way back up to the school just before dawn.  
"Thanks!" He tried not to look too offended, but she laughed at his pout, anyway.

"Perhaps... we could do this again some time?" It was his turn to question her motives, but she seemed sincere enough...  
"What are you doing tonight?"

When he left her at the door of her coffin room, she surprised him by reaching up to kiss him.  
"Thank you. I thought this was going to be unbearable. Now I think I'll cope."

As he walked away, he thought he might, too.


	81. Escape

**Another redrachxo challenge/request. Het pairings again. Enjoy!**

**SPOILERS for 4x05.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"Bertrand, I'm just going to kidnap Adze, can you cover for me with Dad?" His tutor looked up from his reading.  
"What? No." Vlad winced; he should have guessed Bertrand wouldn't be on board with the plan - but then his tutor surprised him. "I'll do it, they'll never believe you had nothing to do with it unless they're with you at the time of the kidnapping."  
"Well that time is now, Bertrand. Go." The older vampire hesitated.  
"I might not be able to come back for a while."  
"Whatever, take as long as you need, just go!" Bertrand vanished and Vlad went to share a bottle - figuratively speaking - with his father and Ramanga.

Adze was surprised to see Bertrand waiting for her when she opened her door.  
"Bertrand. I'm just going to get my fangs-"  
"Change of plan. You're coming with me tonight."  
"But I thought - a few days-" Bertrand shook his head, holding out his hand.

"Vlad's charged me with kidnapping you. He isn't expecting to see either of us for weeks; quite the headstart for our elopement, don't you think?" She placed her hand in his with a genuine smile.  
"Let's go."


	82. Revenge

**Another redrachxo request (she's on a bit of an Adze kick tonight). Het pairing. Enjoy!**

**SPOILERS up to 4x08**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

"I'll have my revenge, father. For what's been done to you... I'll destroy what Vlad loves most."  
"His breather is too well defended."  
"His breather girlfriend, yes. But not his little ex." She was gone before her father could even acknowledge the brilliance of her plan.

"Are you Robin Branagh?" The boy turned, eyes wide as he took in the beauty of the girl addressing him. What had been a dull walk home in the middle of the night had just become substantially more interesting.  
"Yeah, I am, yeah." He was pale, with dark hair and eyes; in the dim light, Adze was prepared to admit that he would have been quite attractive, if he was a vampire. Such a pity that she'd have to drain him to make Vlad pay - or, wait. Perhaps she knew a way to make him suffer even more. The boy's voice snapped her back out of her plotting. "Can I help with something? Do I know you?"  
She smiled, revealing her fangs. Strange; from her investigations, she'd thought he'd been mindwiped. The mere sight of her elongated canines should have had him falling in a heap at her feet. Literally, not just in the figurative sense he was falling at her feet in now.

"You're a vampiress! That's so cool. Did Vlad send you?" She blinked at him, confused by his strange reaction, and he continued. "You're gorgeous. Will you bite me? I've always wanted to be a vampire."  
"I was supposed to be marrying Vlad." Robin's face fell.  
"Oh. Figures. He always did get the girls." She shook her head.  
"I'd rather marry _you_, and you're a breather." She was surprised to realise that she actually did feel a stirring of attraction towards the boy.  
"Well, I don't have to be. Will you? Bite me, that is." She frowned at him.  
"You'd have to agree never to be friends with Vlad again." He faltered, and she sighed. Weak-willed, like the rest of his species; unable to take what he wanted. She met his eyes, certain that hypnosis was the only way she was going to get him to stay still for the bite.

But the breather boy - Robin - was still frowning, not blank-faced as he should have been, and she began to feel panic rising up inside her as she realised what that might mean.  
"Well... I haven't seen him in four years, we're not really friends now." He tilted his head and continued awkwardly. "Go on, get your fangs in there. I probably taste amazing."

She couldn't suppress a giggle as she dropped a swift kiss to his lips before running her tongue over his pulse point.  
"I'm sure you do."  
Her fangs plunged into pale flesh and he let out a little moan; the noise sent shivers through her cold body.

When Robin awoke, he was equally cold.  
"Regrets?" Adze asked, surprised to find that she actually cared. He rubbed at the bitemarks, as if to check it had really happened, and then smiled dopily up at her.  
"None."


	83. Wait

**I have no idea. I suppose I was just thinking about characters who've never actually met and blam, this happened. Enjoy. Mentions of slash.**

**SPOILERS for up to 4x09.**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

Bertrand stared around him in shock.  
"I know what you're thinking," said a voice behind him, "there _is_ an afterlife for vampires after all." He turned slowly to face the speaker, a little disappointed that there didn't seem to be a way back.  
"Actually," he admitted with a frown. "I hadn't got to that yet. I'm still a bit stuck on _where did the stake come from?_" The other man sighed.  
"Oh, yeah. I'd forgotten the _am-I-dead_ stage. Been here a while, see." He glanced around as if looking for something. "I got a talking ball of moonlight to explain all this to me when I arrived, but it looks like whoever's in charge is going to leave me to explain."

Bertrand frowned.  
"Go on, then. I don't suppose you can tell me _why_ I'm dust?"  
"I'm afraid not. But I _can_ tell you why you're here. And then I think I might punch you. But I'll explain first." Bertrand gave the boy - for it was barely more than a boy speaking to him thus - a long, appraising look before raising an eyebrow, unimpressed.  
"I wouldn't advise you to try punching me, even if I understood why you wanted to. Please do explain."  
"You're here because you're in love with a Dracula, and they love you back. Which means we've got a problem, because Ingrid's-"  
"All yours," Bertrand assured him, "I have absolutely no interest in her whatsoever. You must be Will."

Will - because when had Bertrand ever been wrong when it came to Dracula-related facts? - frowned at him.  
"Then why are you-? Oh." His eyes widened. "Vlad?" Bertrand thought about it for a moment.  
"Apparently so." He frowned right back at him. "I hadn't thought... I expected, given recent... I didn't think I could love anyone, let alone someone who treated me like this." Will nodded understandingly.  
"Yeah, Ingrid could be a bit hard to deal with sometimes."  
"Vlad... I think Vlad was holding the stake." Will had no answer for that. After a moment, Bertrand seemed to reach his own conclusion. "But I do."

"If it's any consolation, the fact that you're here... he must love you back. Although I have to say, he's got a funny way of showing it." Bertrand nodded.

"So... what do we do, here?" Will shrugged.  
"We wait. For them to join us." Bertrand sighed and sat down, making himself comfortable.  
"Let's hope we're waiting a long time." Will seemed puzzled by this, but then he thought about it. He _didn't_ want Ingrid to die any time soon. He settled down himself.  
"So, Ingrid... how is she?" Bertrand smiled sadly.  
"She doesn't talk about it much, but she misses you."

Nothing else about the world of the living and the undead seemed important, once he knew that; they turned their conversation towards getting to know each other.

After all, they were hoping to be stuck with each other for a _very_ long time.


	84. Satisfaction

**Rarepairs occur to me late at night, alright? Slash. Enjoy.**

**SPOILERS for... I dunno, up to 4x05 to be safe?**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Malik lingered in the classroom for a little while after the rest of the SCRAP kids had gone.

Bertrand all but ignored his student's continued presence, reaching into his desk for a small bottle and doing his best not to grimace as he opened it. He was very aware, however, of Malik's eyes on his throat as he drank. The street-fang's expression hovered somewhere between disgust and fascination as Bertrand swallowed the bottle's contents and lowered it onto the desk again.

"Soy blood?"  
"Yes."  
"Satisfied?" The older vampire hesitated for barely an instant before nodding once. Malik came to lean right over the desk, invading Bertrand's space with a smirk. "Liar. Let me help you with that."

He barely tasted of the few drops of slayer blood he'd been fed an hour ago, but that wasn't really the point of dragging the tutor across the desk and sliding his tongue past those full, tempting lips. There were other ways than blood to satisfy a man.


	85. Sent Away

**Set during - and before - 3x03 Faustian Slip so spoilers up to there. Another bit of craziness. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: The show ain't mine.**

He knew why he was being sent away, of course. He posed a threat to Magda's supremacy, true enough, but that would usually be an extremely good reason to keep him close. No, the true motives behind his banishment were far more personal.

It had been at a funeral just over a century ago that she'd first set eyes on him; the Count had drunk some dodgy blood and the family had needed to be represented, so the duty had fallen to Magda. She'd been extremely - and obviously - bored, and Bertrand hadn't been much more interested in the proceedings himself. He'd known the dead vampire, but not well. Still, he'd been a venerated Council researcher in the prime of his flight and it was only proper that Bertrand, as a frequent beneficiary of his information, should come to pay his respects.

The ceremony had run long, and it being the height of summer the dawn had made fools of them. The Council had duly provided guest chambers for those with long flights ahead, but Bertrand had barely put his possessions down in his before there was a knock on the door. He opened it, puzzled, to find Magda Westenra pouting at him with a sultry demeanour.  
"_Darling, _I thought we might talk..." She draped herself against the doorway in a deliberately provocative way, "or find some other way to pass the day."

Bertrand frowned; he'd never met the vampiress in his unlife. He knew who she was, of course; and, just as importantly, he knew who she was with.

"I think you must have mistaken me for someone else." Her eyes swept down his body and back up again; the pout quirked up at the corners into what was clearly supposed to be a seductive smirk.  
"No mistake, _darling_."

Bertrand knew this had to be handled delicately; on the one hand, he couldn't afford to insult the current lover of Count Dracula, however unfaithful to him she seemed determined to be. On the other hand, he had had several very long nights and today he just wanted to sleep; brushing her off politely would take energy he simply didn't have.  
"Not today, thank you." He closed the door in her face.

Over a century later, Bertrand couldn't help but curse the misfortune that had led him to this point; he was being sent away from the one vampire he'd spent his unlife searching for, because he had been short-sighted enough to refuse to spend a single day with the Chosen One's mother.


	86. Report

**For redrachxo - a follow-up to Revenge. Enjoy!**

**SPOILERS for series four.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"Vlad, you might want to see this." Ingrid passed her copy of _Fang!_ magazine over to him, and he sighed.  
"I really don't need to read another _Fashion Failing As Badly As The Peace Plan _feature- what's this?"  
"The society gossip. They're usually accurate and, well, there is a photo." Vlad was already reading, horrified.

_Recently jilted Princess Adze caused a stir last week in her first public appearance since her father's disgrace, appearing on the blood-red carpet with a new half-fang in tow. The pair appear completely besotted with one another - far from being heartbroken over the dissolution of her engagement to future Grand High Vampire Vladimir Dracula, the Chosen One, Adze appears to be glowing. _Fang!_ has done a little digging - not literally, readers - and discovered the new half-fang's name.  
"His name's Robin Branagh," a clan leader recovering from some recent extreme dental work, who didn't wish to be named, told us. "You'd better remember the name; my- the princess is quite determined to keep him at her side and he's utterly devoted to her. He's forsworn all previous allegiances to be with her, and I hope they'll have a very happy unlife together."_

Vlad crumpled the magazine, ignoring Ingrid's indignant protest, and took off towards Castle Ramanga. His bang on the door was answered unexpectedly promptly by none other than the person he needed to talk to.  
"Vlad. We were expecting you much earlier." Adze raised an eyebrow at him, leaving him no chance to speak. "I have nothing to say to you, and neither has Robin. He loves me." The door closed on his face, and he stared at it for a long moment before stepping backwards, conscious of the coming dawn and the need for him to go home and reassess the situation.

The door opened again and he hoped, for a brilliant second, that it might be Robin.  
"Actually, I do have one thing to say." Adze stepped outside and squared up to him, right in his face, smiling to show every perfect tooth.

"_I win_."


	87. Parentage

**First random AU of the new year. This is honestly how I thought the Malik storyline was going to go at one point... Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Not my show, therefore not my characters.**

"Elizabeta? She was your mother?" Bertrand frowned. "She had no children when I knew her."  
"You knew my mother?" Malik was surprised, without really knowing why. "I'm her only child, that's why. After Dad," he paused to glare at the classroom door, by which they were separated from the rest of the school and therefore the Count, "abandoned her I was all she had."

Bertrand seemed lost in thought for a moment.  
"How old are you, Malik? When exactly were you born?" The boy shrugged.  
"Hallowe'en night, 1708. What does it matter? Are you gonna check your records and call me a liar?"  
"I don't need to. The Count left your mother in September of 1707, and by November she'd come to seek my sire's help. I offered her a place to stay, and she didn't leave until..." He faltered slightly, realising something important, "March."  
"But then... The Count couldn't be my father. Mum must have got the maths wrong. She must have been with someone while she was staying at your place."

Malik followed Bertrand as he made his way out of the classroom and up to his own room. "Any idea who? I just want to find my Dad." The tutor removed a hollow row of books from a shelf and poured each of them a generous glass from the bottle of Bar Fly hidden there.  
"I wish I had something stronger. Look, the first thing you should know is that your mother could be very persuasive - and _persistent_ - when she wanted something. She must have wanted your father, for whatever reason." Malik dropped into the chair by the door and sprawled there, making a vaguely disgusted gesture with his glass.  
"This is my _mum_, can we not dwell on... all that?" Bertrand simply downed his blood and refilled the glass, aware of Malik waiting for further information.  
"Secondly," he continued as if the younger vampire hadn't spoken, "your mother disappeared before anyone, including your father, knew she was pregnant. He didn't abandon you, though I don't know what he _would_ have done if he'd known."  
Malik sat up, sensing that the information he craved was within reach at last.  
"You know who he is, then?"  
"I believe so." Bertrand took another large gulp of blood and sighed. "Back then, your mother spent her days with me. If you want a DNA test, I'll go along with it, but the dates are enough to convince me."  
"_You_?" The older vampire nodded uncertainly.

Malik took a sip of his blood, mostly for something to do, and then looked up. "Dad?"  
"I know it's a shock, it is for both of us, but-" He didn't get any further as Malik threw himself at his newfound father, hugging him as a small child might. Bertrand slowly, awkwardly put his arms around him in return and they stood that way for a long minute before stepping back and draining their glasses with the air of two men trying to look manly.  
"Of course, this means you're not related to Ingrid." The comment sounded innocuous enough, but then Bertrand smirked up at his son. "Good luck."


	88. Deserting the Den

**Another Erin/Ingrid! I like these, OK? Femslash. Enjoy!**

**SPOILERS FOR ALL OF SERIES FOUR**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

By the time Ingrid arrived in Paris, Erin was fed up.

Malik was out hunting with his friends again, and Erin was nothing more than the newest and lowest member of his gang. She'd been left back at their den as usual, with the rest of the motley crew of misfits he hadn't bothered to take with him, and since the majority would speak only French, she had no-one to talk to. Bored, she set out into the night on her own, ignoring the suspicious glares of the street-fangs. The _other_ street-fangs, she supposed; she was no better than them, now.

She'd barely stepped onto the pavement before Ingrid was in front of her, an amused smile playing at her lips.  
"Malik's so predictable in his choice of... What is he calling this? Lair? Hideout?"  
"Den. Excuse me, I'm just-"  
"Hunting alone? That won't do." She fell into step alongside her, and Erin tried her best to hide how much she appreciated the company.  
"Vlad wouldn't like you hunting with me, not with the truce." The smile grew.  
"What my little brother doesn't know won't hurt him."

"Why are you here, Ingrid?" They'd been prowling through the 12th arrondissement for over an hour now and Ingrid's presence was proving to be extremely distracting.  
"I told you, nobody should hunt alone." Erin shot her a glare that would have sent Vlad grovelling, but the vampiress didn't bat an eyelid.  
"I meant in Paris."  
"Oh. Looking for you, of course." She made it sound so obvious. "Wondered if you were finally ready to admit that you've been dating the wrong Dracula."  
"I'm not going back to Vlad." Ingrid raised an eyebrow.  
"I didn't say you should. But you shouldn't be with Malik, either." Erin strode away, suddenly certain she didn't want to know where this conversation was going. Ingrid _couldn't_ know. She couldn't, there was no way.

Of course, Ingrid caught up with her soon enough; Erin turned a corner and found her waiting in the shadows with that knowing smirk.

"I'm not living with my family anymore. I've got a house in the Swiss Alps, and there's certainly room for you. If you're not having too much fun slumming it with the street-fangs, that is." Erin hesitated, and Ingrid pressed her advantage. "It's a big house; warm fires, comfortable coffins, plenty of blood... and if the odd climber goes missing, well, nobody much cares..."  
"Why are you telling me this?" Erin found it very hard to believe that Ingrid would actually invite her to stay. She would have to trust it eventually, though.  
"Because the boys have both messed up trying to take my place. It's my turn now." She still wasn't getting it, Ingrid could tell. "I know you've fancied me for ages. And I could do worse." It was the closest she dared come to revealing her feelings without some kind of confirmation of Erin's. Dracula confidence, though bountiful, was not inexhaustible.

Erin bit her lip, thinking, for about twenty seconds.  
"You... You're not angry that I like you?"  
"I'm more annoyed that you felt like you had to try my brothers first. But no. You were never an unattractive breather, and now you're not even a bloodbag anymore. Come away with me, tonight." She glanced up at the sky. "_Bats_. Tomorrow night. Meet me somewhere pretty... Do you know the way to the _Pont des Arts_?" Erin nodded dumbly; it was known for being one of the most romantic places in Paris. Ingrid was really pulling out all the stops. "Meet me there an hour after sundown. Bring your things. Don't tell Malik, and _don't_ let the dawn catch you."

She nodded again, startled when Ingrid grabbed her and pulled her into a surprisingly soft kiss; her lips tasted of cherries. When she pulled back, it was with a tiny smile; not a smirk for once.  
"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that." Then she was gone, and Erin didn't even have time to grab a breather before she was racing back to the den to wait out the sun and collect her belongings.

The night beckoned.


	89. Neither of Us

**Set immediately after Bertrand's attempt to disgrace Adze in... 4x03? So spoilers up to that, I suppose, though only in that this Author's Note just ruined it for ya. Sorry. Anyway. Slash and het. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not miiiine, sadly.**

"Well," Erin sighed, slumping down next to Bertrand in the empty Revamp room, "thanks for trying, I suppose." Bertrand barely shrugged in response, and the silence settled for a moment before it became uncomfortable. Erin broke it. "How do you do it?" He raised an eyebrow. "Well, we're both in the same boat now. How can you stand to look at him, knowing you'll never even be allowed to touch?"

There was a long pause as Bertrand struggled to decide how truthful he should be. It seemed, when he finally answered, that he'd decided to let her in and be absolutely honest.  
"I love him." He spoke as if that settled it. "That's how I stand it, and it's why he can never know."  
"I won't tell him," she promised, taken aback by his candour, "but I always thought you'd be the one to steal him from me. And now neither of us can have him."

Bertrand fixed her with a piercing look.  
"You still have time left. Go and enjoy it while you can." He was right, of course; she stood and hurried to the door, leaving Bertrand to his lonely thoughts.  
"Thanks." She hesitated, then continued softly. "I'll give him a kiss from you."  
The vampire looked up, silently weighing her intentions - she wasn't trying to rub salt in the wound, she was trying to be _nice_ - then nodded curtly.  
"Make it a good one."

She left with every intention of doing just that.


	90. Sick

**A little snippet from the Unexpected!verse. Set a couple of years after the end of 'Unexpected' and a few before the beginning of 'Expectation' (if you've read chapter 18 of the latter, you'll recognise poor old Bertrand's state of mind. Chloe's probably right about this one though, as opposed to Robin's self-diagnosis).  
Partly inspired by moggiepillar's post on Tumblr about Chloe. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine. **

"You must be Chloe." The voice was deep and unfamiliar and came from somewhere behind her. Chloe didn't look up from her book.  
"I carry a personal alarm." The warning was sing-song, casual; she'd refined it over the last year so that she didn't sound as if she was afraid, even when something unnerved her. Something like, for example, a strange man coming up behind her and telling her who she must be. It was even creepier that the stranger was right. "Was there something you wanted?"

The man hesitated, perhaps deciding how best to answer.  
"I'm a friend of Robin's," he settled on eventually. "I wanted to ask you a few questions." At that, she did look up, and he moved awkwardly to perch at the other end of the bench in the bus shelter.  
"Robin doesn't have friends around here."  
"I'm not from around here." The man paused. "I just want to know about his medical history."

Well, that was interesting; Chloe snapped her book shut and narrowed her eyes.  
"Why would you need to know that? Are you some kind of con artist? Because if you're running a scam on my brother-"  
"He's sick." She felt her eyes go wide with horror, her jaw dropping. _How sick? _she wanted to ask, but she couldn't make the words come out. The man in front of her, a young man with ancient blue eyes, seemed solemn enough to be alarming. "I don't know how to fix him."  
_  
_"What's wrong with him?" she managed at last, "Tell me." He ran a hand through dark brown curls, anxious and fretful.  
"He's hot, too hot, even for- even for him," he stammered, though Chloe didn't think he seemed like he usually stammered, "and he complains of headaches, feeling tired, he feels sick all the time, he won't eat..."  
"How long has this been going on?" Chloe was no doctor, not yet at any rate, but she read a lot, and she'd like to think that if it was something very terrible, she'd be able to work it out. Already she'd narrowed down a list of potential conditions... any one of them could take her brother in an instant.  
"Almost _two days_." She laughed, then, relief washing over her, and the wounded, slightly frustrated expression on the man's - the _vampire's_, she corrected herself smugly - face just set her off into even more giggles. "It's not funny, he could be really sick-"

"It's probably just flu, he'll be fine." She frowned at him as the hysteria died down a little and she came to her senses. "You're a vampire."  
"You're supposed to be mind-wiped." His frown matched hers, now.  
"So you _are_ one of Vlad's friends. Jonno helped me throw it off." She realised, a little too late, that he could just as easily be one of Vlad's close enemies; she shouldn't be giving him information about herself or her brother. "Why do you care, anyway?"

The vampire blinked.  
"I'm his boyfriend." He held out a hand, almost apologetically. "I'm Bertrand."  
"Robin's dating a _vampire_?" She stared at him for a moment before shrugging and shaking his hand. "I suppose I should have seen that coming. I should mention I've been taking odourless garlic tablets for years, save us both some trouble."  
"There's a ceasefire."  
"Oh, I forgot; and vampires are always so trustworthy." For a moment, Bertrand smiled - at least, the corners of his mouth twitched upwards - but then the worry took over again. She cut him off before he could speak. "If he's still like it in a week, _then_ you can worry. Now you should get back and look after him, and when he's better you can tell him his family would like to see him now and again."

He stood, cape swishing - _how had she missed the cape?_ - and hesitated.  
"You're sure he'll be alright?"  
"Yes, I'm sure. No cause to worry for the time being. That's my bus coming now, that is." She glanced in the direction of the approaching headlights to check, and when she turned back, Bertrand was gone.

Vampires. So melodramatic.


	91. Shock

**Set during 'Bad Vlad', which was... what, 3x08? Anyway, spoilers for that.  
This was both very easy and very difficult for me to write tonight, so I hope it's actually half-decent. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, I wish, moving on.**

Ingrid had never really expected Vlad to turn on her.

Of course they'd had their sibling rivalries, their petty squabbles and their bitter feuds, but she'd never thought her little brother would actually hurt her; push her into the sunlight and leave her to burn. It was as if he'd been possessed by something - he _had_, she reminded herself, but it was only another part of _him_ - and now nothing and nobody mattered to him except what he said, what he experienced, and what he wanted.

She'd never expected to carve a stake for him, either, but she'd seen how dangerous he was and she wanted to be safe. In her years living away from her family, she'd learnt that defending herself sometimes meant carrying a weapon, or improvising one. Deep down, though, she knew she'd never use it; not against Vlad. Vlad, who'd cowered behind her as their parents had fought, who'd let her take the fall for everything he'd ever done wrong when they were growing up, who she'd willingly taken the flack for... he was her little brother, and she didn't think she could ever actually slay him.

What worried her most, in that split second before she threw him out into the sun, was that she had _trusted_ him. Their parents' favourite child he may have been, and a right little garlic-muncher at times, but vampires knew - better than anyone - that blood was thicker than water. He was her brother, and she was his big sister, and she knew he would never cause her harm, not deliberately.

She didn't know if she could have dodged his attack, had she moved when she saw it coming; all she knew was that she hadn't tried. She'd just stood there, waiting for him to sulk as she called his bluff. It was only luck that she wasn't dead, slain at her younger brother's hand and brought low by her own foolish naivety.

It was a relief, really, when he left. One of them had had to go.


	92. Study

**I know there's a lot left unexplained in this one, but whatever. For redrachxo, because she's crazy. Enjoy the rarepair!**

**Spoilers: none really, vague series 4 ones I suppose.**

**Disclaimer: Nope. Not mine. Also, written at 5am so unlikely to be particularly good.**

_The Chosen One will rise to fight for his blood in a time of great need,_ Bertrand translated wearily.

He sighed; he knew that, of course. He'd thought, once, long ago, that the words had referred to their food supply, but of course it had been Vlad's family he'd risen to defend. He wasn't even sure why he was bothering to read up on the Chosen One prophecies; not only had he read enough of them to know that they all said the same thing, but he was no longer in Vlad's service. There was no reason to be thinking through weak points and strategies and training routines, not now Vlad had accused him of treason and told him to get out. He'd taken the loosest possible interpretation of the order - had it really been four years ago, now? - and had taken himself as far away as he could bear to get. He hadn't returned, even when Vlad had found the real traitor and been obliged to issue Bertrand with a pardon; Vlad had made a token protest, but let him stay away.

It had been four years, holed up first in a little town in Wales, and then a city in the north of England, and now he was sitting in a little private study room in a university library, wondering what he was doing with his unlife. A soft voice broke into his thoughts.  
"You're thinking about going back again, aren't you?" Chloe hadn't even looked up from her book.  
"Maybe, after you graduate. It was my whole purpose, finding him, training him... I should still be at his side."  
"Well, if that's what you want." She noted something down on a piece of paper and slipped it in to mark a relevant passage before turning the page.

Bertrand leant in until she couldn't help but tense at his proximity.  
"I thought you might like to come with me." She looked up at him then, surprised, and he was glad he'd perfected his poker face over the centuries so that she couldn't see how nervous he was. She probably had better things to do, better places to go; she would soon tire of him once she left university and no longer had an endless supply of new historical topics to ask a primary source about. She wouldn't want to hang around with some boring old vampire.  
"Alright." She smiled at him and turned back to her book. When she looked up at the end of the page, however, he realised he was still staring at her, dumbfounded by her easy acceptance. "I mean, Vlad'll go mental, and so will Robin, but maybe-"  
"Robin'll have an excuse to visit, and they can... 'go mental' together." He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips and ran a hand through her hair, stroking gently. "I didn't think you'd want to." He lowered his voice. "I wish we weren't in public."

Chloe bit her lip, thinking hard about something, then stood and went to check that the door was locked and the blinds were down.  
"Remember how I said loads of people used these individual study rooms to work in pairs?" He nodded.  
"You said it was the second most popular use of them. I remember. Why?" She shrugged.  
"The _most_ popular use isn't for studying at all." He raised an eyebrow and she folded her arms defensively. "What? Chloe Branagh can't be a bit daring and rebellious now and again?"

He didn't bother to answer that with words, just swept her into his arms and kissed her soundly.


	93. Don't Speak

**Set towards the end of 4x08 so spoilers up to that. Based on No Doubt's 'Don't Speak'. Short and angsty. Enjoy.**

**SPOILERS UP TO 4x08**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, as ever.**

Bertrand didn't know why Ingrid was saying these things - had he framed her lately? Did they have a score to settle? He couldn't remember - or why Erin was backing her up, but as Vlad sprawled, chest heaving as if he needed to breathe, trying not to cry, all he could do was keep presenting the alternative explanation in the hope that giving him enough of the facts would force the boy to see sense.

_I really feel that I'm losing my best friend, I can't believe this could be the end..._

He wished Vlad would let him help him - he knew what he'd been through, after all, hadn't Vlad zoned him enough times before, reduced him to a wreck on the floor? - but he just kept flinching away from him, and he knew it was coming. He knew, even as he stumbled through another attempt to convince him of the truth, exactly which side of the story Vlad was choosing to believe.

_Don't speak, I know what you're thinking..._

"You're a traitor. Get out!"

_Don't tell me, 'cos it hurts._


	94. Nightmare

**Slightly racy I suppose? Femslash, since everyone seems to be enjoying this pairing lately. Enjoy!**

**Spoilers for, like, 3x04 I guess...**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Not even a little.**

Erin struggled against the chains. _This dream again?_

Vlad really had to learn that when vampires dreamt, people could get dragged in. She wasn't sure if she could die in the Dreamworld, or if the power of vampiric imagination was enough to transform her into a half-fang and let her burn in the sun... but it seemed that last point wasn't a particular concern tonight. No, in tonight's dream, it was dark, and hellhounds advanced across the courtyard; she could hear more behind her. Or they might have been werewolves, she wasn't sure. She'd never been much good with the Slayers' Guild textbooks.

At any rate, she was in serious danger if one of them pounced. As if he'd heard her thoughts, the Alpha wolf crouched, coiled like a spring... and leapt straight at her.

She closed her eyes against the impact, but opened them again when she heard a thud and a yelp. In front of her stood a vampire, deadly and majestic, fighting the attacking canines off as if they were so many flies to be swatted. After what seemed like hours of lightning-fast combat, the wolves slunk off, tails between their legs, and her rescuer turned to face her.  
"Ingrid! Let me out?" She rattled at the chains to make sure she was understood, but Ingrid merely smirked slowly and stepped closer.  
"Hm, no, I think you can stay in those for a bit..."

* * *

At breakfast the next morning, Erin couldn't make eye contact with anyone - least of all Ingrid. She shrugged Vlad off when he asked what was wrong, and then raced off to pack her schoolbag as if there was nothing more important in the world.

"My room after school? Girl time?" Ingrid was stood in the doorway; she held up a small metal key. "We could find out what this opens?" Erin had trained as a slayer; they both knew she could recognise a handcuff key when she saw one. She turned bright red, nodded, mumbled something about Algebra, and made a run for class.

Ingrid smiled triumphantly.  
_Message received, then._


	95. Triumph

**Jumping on the bandwagon rather - inspired by redrachxo's deliciously dark fic, 'Twisted'. THIS IS ALSO VERY DARK. Enjoy.**

**SPOILERS for ALL OF SERIES FOUR.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"It's your own fault." His captor looked down on him with a cold smirk. "I never would have known how to be a proper vampire, a ruthless killing machine, if I'd never seen the way you lived."

He struggled against his bonds, but the argentalium rendered him powerless as surely as it would the lowliest half-fang, and she knew it. She sneered unpleasantly.  
"I'm amazed you're still trying to escape. You must know the only way you're getting out of here is in a hoover." He knew that was more than likely; anyone who might have rescued him... well, they were gone now. He was alone, he'd made sure of that himself with his foolish actions.  
"What do you want?" Her fangs gleamed as she smiled.  
"_Revenge_." He closed his eyes, waiting for the end to come.

When he opened them, she was crouching in front of him, short blonde hair, bright blue eyes, smile like sunshine and almost as painful, because this wasn't how she was. Not anymore. And it was his fault, he'd taken that smile from her. She laughed, as if she was reading his thoughts.  
"You know, it's funny. I keep expecting him to show up and rescue you." So did he; that was the terrible thing. He'd been chained like this for hours and all he could think was that only a few months ago he could have sat here with an arrogant smile on his face, safe in the knowledge that help was on its way. But his arrogance had cost him dear in the past, and no there was no help to come. "Your thoughts are running in circles. It's boring." She smiled again. "You know, your big brother wanted to see you. I almost let him, but then I thought... no. I'd rather do this myself."

She set down a bottle of blood just within his reach and he cast it no more than a disdainful look.  
"Don't worry, it's soy. It's a little diluted, of course - we remembered how much you like diluted blood, so we put some Holy Water in it." She stood and moved to the door, too fast for him to throw the bottle at her, even if he wanted to. "It's all you're getting. Enjoy your meal." She unlocked the heavy door and began to swing it open.  
"Erin-" She stopped. "Please don't do this." She turned in the doorway, looking almost sympathetic, and his heart soared. There was hope, after all.

"You asked me once not to turn on you." He nodded.  
"I did." But then the darkness returned to her eyes and the cold smile appeared again.  
"And I asked you once not to turn me. Remind me how that went?"  
"Erin-"  
"Goodbye, Vlad." Then she was gone; the door slammed and locked, and Erin's triumph was complete.


	96. Struggle

**Oh, for blood's sake. Some of you don't half overreact to Vlad-death. Anyway, here's another little fic for you, another attempt at a vampire afterlife; enjoy.**

**SPOILERS for ALL OF SERIES FOUR.**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine except maybe a couple of minor plot elements.**

Bertrand had never fought so hard in his entire existence. The afterlife, it seemed, did exist for vampires in the form of a seemingly bottomless lake of blood. A less wise or more arrogant vampire might have assumed it was the blood of his victims, but Bertrand knew that however cruel and prolific he might have been in unlife, he had certainly never spilt this much blood. No one vampire could ever spill this much blood.

Besides, the blood he'd drained had never had healing properties. Yet he'd dropped into the top of the lake as dust, and as he'd sunk he'd felt himself coming back, pulled together like so much vampire-flavoured astronaut food. He hadn't understood the instinctive compulsion to kick for the surface, but as he swam he became aware of other bodies around him doing the same thing. As he swam, one by one, the closest dropped away; one clutched at his coat - oh, great, because_ that_ wasn't weighing him down or anything - but he kicked the unfortunate being away and sensed it sinking into the depths.

He took in a mouthful of blood and swallowed it, desperate for the extra burst of energy he'd need to reach the surface. It felt as if he'd been swimming for days, yet he had no way of measuring his progress. Then, suddenly, the shape of another vampire burst out of nothingness beside him. Another appeared, then another, and he watched as they slipped down and out of sight, just dark clouded forms in the blood. He must be almost there-

A fourth sprinkling of dust burst into vampirism nearby and suddenly every instinct in his body was singing. _Go. Catch. Help._ He reached out and grasped at the vampire's shirt, wrapping his arms around the body as if in a hug and cursing silently as he realised they were sinking faster now. He kicked harder and the other vampire seemed to catch on; he stopped struggling and began kicking too. The younger vampire - he could tell he was younger, barely more than a boy - already seemed exhausted, though, and when he began flagging and Bertrand tried, through the gloom, to demonstrate that the blood was drinkable, it seemed like the message wasn't getting through.

Bertrand wasn't sure, in the seconds that followed his next action, if he'd known who he was holding before he made the most rash decision of his extremely long existence, or if he had - briefly - not cared at all. All he knew was that he had taken a mouthful of blood, removed one hand from the other vampire's back and used it to tilt the boy's head, and kissed him. To his surprise, the recently-dusted vampire responded almost eagerly. He would never know if the boy knew whose mouth he was receiving the blood from, but the important thing was that he took it and then, working on his own initiative, took a gulp of the blood freely available around them. The effect was almost instantaneous; his kicks became stronger and they began to make slow upward progress again.

Bertrand wrapped his arm back around the youngster and redoubled his efforts to reach the surface, suddenly determined that they would make it there. He didn't know what he expected to happen, but it would be nice just to _see_ again - properly, not this disappointing red fog - and then it did happen. As his head broke the surface he found himself lying in a heap on the floor of the throne room at Garside Grange, clutching none other than the Grand High Vampire himself.

"Bertrand?"  
"Vlad!" Yes, the boy had staked him, but that seemed like a long, long struggle ago and they could talk about it later. For now, he beamed, clinging to the young vampire he now understood why he'd been so drawn to.  
"We were dead." Bertrand nodded. "But now... we're not?"  
"We don't seem to be. How did you-?"  
"Holy Water. Erin made me drink it." Bertrand nodded grimly; he would have to put an end to that threat one way or another.

An astonished _Well, I've never seen such a-!_ drew their attention back to their surroundings, and Vlad grimaced.  
"Ah. I should probably tell you. We've moved."


	97. Tea

**OK so I've got a ton of work to do - obviously this means it is time to stay up all night and write fic. So here's the last of the night; redrachxo asked for established B/V and somehow this happened. Set in the future, without all the nastiness of oh let's say the whole of series four just to be safe. SLASH. Enjoy!**

**Spoilers for nothin' much, arguably 3x02 I suppose...**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"Vlad," the soft, urgent whisper came in the middle of the day, and the Grand High Vampire was instantly awake and alert, ready to react to whatever threat it was that Bertrand knew about and he didn't.  
"What is it?"  
"It's your turn to make the tea." He groaned, glancing at the clock on the wall.  
"It's..." It was later than he thought, but still definitely daytime - they should have been peacefully sleeping. "It's 4.30 in the afternoon, Bertrand, and you woke me up to talk about tea?"  
"Don't you want tea?"  
"Well, I do _now_..."  
"Great. Get me one while you're up, yeah?"

Vlad rolled over to face his lover.  
"You know, sometimes I think it was better when you were just my valet." Bertrand raised an eyebrow.  
"You weren't getting any of my best services then."  
"That's it, if you're going to be all chirpy and witty and brag a lot, you're making us both tea."  
"Chirpy?" Alright, so that wasn't the best word. "I'm not a bird, _Vladimir_."  
"Really? If only there was some way to prove it. Like... I don't know. I don't think birds can work kettles, why don't you give that a try?"  
"Why should I?"  
"Because otherwise I'll tell the entire world your middle name is Fitzherbert-Montgomery."

Bertrand looked genuinely offended.  
"I don't have a middle name, let alone one as ridiculous as that."  
"I could change that. My word is law, remember?" Bertrand 'hmmed' and pressed a kiss into the crook of Vlad's neck.  
"But you know you always listen to me." He nibbled softly at the Chosen One's ear and watched him wriggle in delight. "Besides, Grand High Vampire or not, it's your turn to make the tea."

The younger man let out a particularly dramatic groan, and rolled onto his back.  
"Do I have to?"  
"I'll make it worth your while." That caught his attention. "Welll, obviously I didn't wake you up for _just_ tea." His finger came to trace slow, lazy circles on Vlad's bare chest, and the leader of the vampire world shivered.  
"You're lucky you're worth so much tea."  
"It's still your _turn_..." Vlad hauled himself out of the coffin, answering back good-naturedly.  
"But you did wake me up." Then he pottered off to the kitchen to make the blasted tea. The kettle really couldn't boil fast enough.


	98. Run

**Sorry for the lack of updates. Reposting this - fixed the rushed ending a little, although I'm still not sure about it. Weird little fic. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Sometimes, all you could do was run.

Bertrand had been caught, fangs dripping, crouched over the body of a dead girl. He'd slipped; it was an unforgivable lapse of judgement on his part. He had thought his blood addiction was a thing of the past, but he should have realised there was a chance of relapse. Of _course _there was. Had he really thought he was such a special case? He'd watched street-fang after street-fang try to fall from grace, he'd held them back, and all the while he'd thought he was better than that. He'd thought he was safe. He'd thought _she_ was safe.

She was nothing to him, just a girl he'd picked up in a club a few towns from Garside. He hadn't wanted much from her, just a little stress relief she'd been more than willing to provide. He could have sent her on her way then, sated and happy, but hunger and cravings had struck, and the next thing he knew he was looking up at Vlad, crouched in the alley surrounded by all manner of fluids... but predominantly blood.

He'd disappeared into the darkness, hoping against hope that the Chosen One would somehow fail to find him.

Sometimes, all you could do was run.

Ingrid had been trapped, expected to make a good marriage to a respected Elder. She was barely in her twenties, the last thing she wanted was to produce heirs for some creaking eight hundred year old monstrosity. When her father's choice had in fact turned out to be nine hundred and sixty, she'd thought he was joking. She'd _hoped_ he was joking. He hadn't been joking.

He was nothing to her, just an obstacle to overcome. He, however, seemed quite keen on the idea of marriage. To last almost a millennium, you had to be cunning, and if she hadn't been expected to _marry_ the vile creature she'd almost have respected him. And then he'd started demanding some of his marital rights early, a sly application of pressure here and there until she almost -_ almost_ - gave in just to silence him.

Sometimes, all you could do was run.

In a cave in the Alps, Bertrand stopped. If they hadn't found him yet, perhaps they would call off the search and simply report to the Slayers that he was slain. They had to know he wouldn't show his face again. He thought, perhaps, he might be safe... and then he heard hissing as someone landed outside, having underestimated the rising sun.  
"Ow- _Bertrand_?" He was already on his feet, wondering if there was any way he could come out of this undead, before he realised who was talking to him.  
"Ingrid?"

She stumbled forwards, further into the darkness of the cave, and collapsed gratefully into his arms as he extinguished the flames with soothing hands.  
"They tried to marry me off. I had to... I couldn't do it, not..." He just held her tightly, rubbing comforting circles into her back out of habit.  
"I understand. You can stay with me as long as you'd-"  
"I broke up with you because I found out I'm pregnant." His jaw dropped, as expected. "Please don't throw me out until the evening, that's all I ask."

"That..." He stopped, still holding her, and tried again. "Why would that make you end it?"  
"It's not that I stopped loving you, I just didn't want you to freak out..."  
"Ingrid, stop. So you're pregnant, and it's mine, and... they tried to marry you off?"  
"He would have known it wasn't his. And you slept with some girl before you bit her, so it's not like you can judge- What?" He sighed and buried his face in her hair.  
"I'm sorry. I was upset, and Vlad wanted to go clubbing, and I thought it might make me feel better."  
"Did it?" He pulled back and shot her a look. "Right. Of course not." They stood in silence for a few moments.

"You're sure?" She didn't have to ask what he meant; his fingers were ghosting subconsciously over her stomach, tracing intricate, absent-minded patterns.  
"Quite sure. A couple of months. It must have been that time we hadn't seen each other for weeks and there just wasn't time..."  
"We should have made time. _Blood._" She tensed, backing out of his arms, afraid that he was angry, suddenly aware that she was trapped between sunlight and a man who'd told her, time and time again, that he had no plans to demand a family, that he didn't want kids, that their secret relationship was perfect with just the two of them... but it was _Bertrand._ Surely he wouldn't hurt her. "Ingrid, we should have made time!"  
"I'm sorry-"  
"It's not your fault, it's... oh, blood, what do we do?" He took her back into his arms and the silence descended once more.

Eventually, he spoke again.  
"We can't do this here." She frowned.  
"Do what? I'm not getting rid-"  
"Well, you couldn't do _that_ here, certainly. We also can't raise a child here. We're going to have to rejoin society." She clung to him as she realised he wasn't going to abandon her; she wasn't going to go through this terrifying ordeal alone.  
"But that means begging Vlad to help us both." He kissed her forehead, nodding reluctantly.  
"I think it does, yeah."

Sometimes, all you could do was go home.


	99. Shorts

**Set in the Unexpected 'verse, some time between the end of 'Unexpected' and the time they leave Garside.  
Prompt for redrachxo: 'Bertrand in loud Bermunda short. Whatever reason, whatever context but our dear dignified, scowling Bertrand in eyewateringly bright and tasteless shorts'. Slash. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: not mine.**

"B," Robin put on his best 'coaxing' voice, "it's not that bad. Just come out."  
"I don't understand why we have to do this anyway," came the muffled reply from behind the door. "It's not natural."  
"_You're_ not natural." This didn't bring forth the desired chuckle. "Bertrand, seriously, is it that much of a problem for you?" There was mumbling behind the door - Robin didn't catch much of it, but he did hear the word _ugly, _and _disgusting_ came through quite clearly, twice. Ah. It didn't take a genius to work out what the problem was.  
"You know you can wear a t-shirt, right?" There was silence for a moment, then a frantic scuffling sound and the noise of drawers being open and shut. "Idiot, just because me and Vlad aren't, that doesn't mean-"  
"I still feel like a fool." Robin snorted.  
"_You_ feel like a fool? I'm standing here in glorified boxers, talking to a door when we both know I'd much rather be cuddling up to my _gorgeous _boyfriend." There was silence. "Bertrand? Are you gonna come out?"

Another tense minute of silence passed before the door handle turned and Bertrand shuffled out into the hallway. He had indeed managed to find a t-shirt, but it was one of Robin's and it clung in places that made Robin wish he was wearing either considerably more clothing or considerably _less_. Fortunately, his lust became slightly easier to contain as his eyes travelled down to rest on the frankly _ridiculous_ baggy Bermuda shorts his boyfriend was wearing. Bright red with clashing orange flowers patterned across them, they wouldn't flatter _anyone_. Bertrand looked as if he was contemplating just crawling back into Robin's coffin room and hiding there forever.

Robin reached out and took one of his hands, squeezing gently as he gestured at his own, equally hideous - lime and fuschia, as if those were colours and not plants - shorts.  
"We're all in the same boat. Look, you know how Erin gets if you say no to her daft ideas, and if we don't do it now she'll just nag until Vlad _orders_ us to do something even stupider." Bertrand hesitantly reached out to trail a finger over Robin's chest, and Robin smiled. "Play along, and I'll make it up to you later." The vampire sighed and allowed himself to be led down to the main assembly hall, where Erin had set up an entire fake beach for the weekend's photoshoot.  
"Alright. But she'd better not have any stupid ideas about the rest of the calendar. This is quite humiliating enough." Robin grimaced. Once August was done, he was pretty certain she wanted them in bunny ears for March and Santa hats or antlers for December... he decided to let Erin argue that point with Bertrand for herself. Besides, they'd reached the door.  
"Come on. Let's see how stupid Vlad looks."

He pushed open the door to find one very grumpy-looking Chosen One in flip-flops and swimming trunks glaring straight at him.  
"I heard that." Erin, in a short sundress herself, spared them the need to reply by clapping her hands with glee and directing them all to take up positions under the fake palm tree.

As she talked Renfield through the proper operation of the camera, Bertrand leant across to whisper in Robin's ear.  
"She's not going to do this every year, is she?" The other two boys - one aided by supernatural hearing - groaned in unison.  
"I hope not."

The camera flashed.


	100. Price

**This is the 100th Blood Droplet! Thanks to all who've read and reviewed along with me this far, I appreciate it.  
****So, no pressure for this milestone... the prompt was related to Bertrand's sudden love of collars in series 4 but it got away from me a bit. Slash. Enjoy!  
****Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"Bertrand, stay." He had been about to melt into the shadows, and the Chosen One was no fool. If Bertrand disappeared, he would never see him again, at least not on Vlad's side. For all his faults, the older vampire was too valuable an ally to lose.

Gradually, the hall emptied, and Vlad dragged his former tutor down to the training room, hurling him brutally to the floor.  
"What do you have to say for yourself?"  
"I shouldn't have turned on you, I'm sorry-"  
"Were you ever on my side at all?"  
"Of course I-" He cut across Bertrand's pathetic attempt to justify himself.  
"Do you want to stay in my service, Bertrand?"

He realised that the other man had _chosen_ to stay on his knees when he'd recovered from the fall as Bertrand's defences briefly slipped and a pure, honest longing shone through.  
"I want nothing but to serve you."  
"Then you won't mind paying a small price for my forgiveness." Bertrand's eyes narrowed, but he nodded easily enough. Vlad smirked; this was going to be quite a shock to his valet's system.

Indeed, the older vampire's entire expression briefly showed nothing but panic as Vlad lunged forward, dragging the zip of his top halfway down his chest, grabbing his hair and forcing his head backwards.  
"You belong to me now." And then he sank his fangs into his neck. Bertrand let out a cry of shock and pain, then slumped, submitting. The Chosen One held him firmly in place for a few moments before sending him sprawling backwards once more. "Do we understand each other?"  
"Yes, your grandness." He'd risen to a kneeling position again, and Vlad could practically see him straining not to touch the wounds in his neck.

"There's just one thing I don't understand." Bertrand ducked his head, awaiting the question. "Why work for him, if you were going to turn on him just as quickly?" His tutor's eyes snapped up.  
"Who?"  
"And why not just tell me I needed slayer's blood to open the Book? You can't have known a slayer would just stumble across it."  
"What? Vlad, I didn't know the Book was a vampire. He'd been in there thousands of years, I'm not _that_ old."  
"Vlad again now, is it?" But he made a valid point, and tiny seeds of doubt were beginning to take root in the Chosen One's mind.  
"Forgive me, your grandness-"  
"You weren't working against me from the beginning?"  
"No. I just wanted to fix the slayer problem, that's all, I swear. Your grandness." He dropped his voice and his gaze at the same time. "...Master."

"Don't call me that." Vlad was appalled; he'd been punishing his former tutor for a year's worth of deceit and treachery. He would never have bitten him for a simple act of defiance like stealing the Book, or even for taking Erin. "Blood, Bertrand. I thought... if I'd known it was just that time, I wouldn't have bitten-"  
"I'm honoured." He looked up, then, and Vlad saw the sincerity in his eyes. "Truly, I was always yours. I'm proud to be claimed as such."  
"You always _were_ mine, weren't you?" Memories of fleeting touches, stolen moments, and longing gazes overwhelmed him for a moment and he dropped to his knees opposite his tutor, lurching forward once again – this time, however, it was his tongue that made contact with his tutor's neck, soothing the wounds he'd made as best he could.

He pulled back and rested his nose against Bertrand's for a moment, hoping he'd understand.  
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for biting you. But I'm not sorry that you're mine." Bertrand closed his eyes and the teenager's hand came up to stroke his cheek. "I understand if this isn't OK-"  
"It is. _Blood_, Vlad, it is." Their lips touched, just for a moment, and then again. Bertrand's eyes were slow to flutter open, and when they did, he only leant in for more and closed them again.

Vlad couldn't argue with that.  
"_Mine,_" he whispered, and kissed him again.


	101. Forgotten

**Ever get that fangless feeling? That Stokely sensation? I've got that today, so you'll have to put up with potentially several Jonno fics. Deal with it, he's lovely. Enjoy!**

**SPOILERS for 4x10.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"_Jonno, slow down. She's what?"_  
"She's forgotten me, he mind-wiped everyone... Mum doesn't remember who I am. Please, I know I said I'd leave you out of all this slaying stuff, but I need you to-"  
_"I'll be right there, of course."_  
"She's all I have left."  
_"No, she's not. You've got me. We'll sort this out, Jonno. I'm on my way."_

The phone went dead. Jonno sat where he was for a few more minutes, head in his hands, before rushing to stop his mother pressing any buttons she shouldn't. He'd failed to protect her, and now his girlfriend, who he'd always tried to protect from all this stuff - no matter how capable she was of dealing with it, that didn't mean she _wanted_ to, and he respected that – was on her way here. He made a snap decision and sent her a text, knowing she'd be on a train by now.  
_Change of plan. I'm taking her home. Meet me there?_  
The response was almost instant.  
_Of course. Save me a cwtch._

Somehow, even with everything that was going on, she could always make him smile.

* * *

Two hours later, Jonno had explained where everything was to his bewildered mother, and seen her into her own bedroom. He almost felt as if he should tuck her in or something – but he was a stranger to her now, and it would be even weirder than tucking your own mum into bed would normally be. Now he was sitting in the living room, hoping she slept for long enough for him to work out what he was doing.

The knock at the door was a relief; as soon as he opened it he found his arms full of blonde genius.  
"Come on, let me in then. Are you alright? Do you want me to put the kettle on?" She was in the kitchen before he could answer. He closed the door and followed her, reassured by her easy acceptance of the situation. At least one of them was functioning as a normal human being.

A few minutes later, Jonno's tea was cooling on the table, his girlfriend sipping briefly at hers before abandoning it to the same probable fate as Jonno curled into a ball with his head on her lap.  
"It'll be alright. Maybe it's a fresh start. You don't have to be a slayer anymore. You can have a _normal_ life." He shook his head stubbornly.  
"It can't be normal if Mum doesn't know who I am." She sighed, running her fingers through his hair, absent-mindedly soothing him with her touch.  
"Alright, then we'll have to fix it somehow. I suppose the first thing to do is to round up all the slayers..."  
"Why?"  
"Well, they're sitting ducks at the moment, aren't they?" Jonno grimaced and sat up; how could he not have thought of that?  
"Like Dad."  
"We'll make sure that doesn't happen. I'm here for you, Jonno, all the way. I'll do everything I can to help."  
"But you hate getting involved with the vampire thing, ever since I got you through the mind-wipe..."  
"I love you, you idiot. Of course I'll help you get your Mum back." She swept him into the cwtch he'd promised her by text.  
"You're the best, Chloe." She smiled at him fondly.  
"I know."


	102. Missing

**Don't think I've written this pairing before, although the lovely Starrrz has - I hope you don't mind if this is slightly inspired by some of your fics! Slash. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

It had been awkward and fumbling, as everything they did seemed to be at first.

When Jonno had pulled Robin aside and suggested they hang out, because nobody else seemed to be _quite_ as forgetful as they were and they'd both been given the same exercises to do, their hands had collided over the cards as they tried to match pairs from memory. They were fourteen; Robin had blushed and pulled his hand back in a hurry, and Jonno had grown frustrated with how easy the game was and stormed off to fetch his own matching deck of pictures to try to make it harder.

Robin had been the one, as they walked past the bike sheds on their way out of school, to pause and jerk his head awkwardly towards the cycle racks. Their noses had collided and their teeth had clashed as they tried to figure out the whole kissing thing on the fly. They were fifteen; Jonno had apologised for hurting Robin's nose and walked away, and Robin had slipped his hand into the other boy's as he caught up, hoping that that was okay.

It had been Jonno who'd walked up to Robin's room and found him hurriedly pulling the duvet up to his chin, apparently not having heard his mother's call that he was coming up. They were sixteen; Robin had stuttered something about it not being what it looked like and Jonno had slipped under the covers with him.

Really, Robin knew, Jonno was in love with what was missing from his mind. That was okay, though, because so was Robin, he supposed. If this was as close as they could get, well, nobody was getting hurt.

Robin had approached Jonno as the other boy's world fell apart, wrapped his arms around him and held him as he sobbed for the loss of his father. They were seventeen; Jonno had disappeared a week later and Robin had done his own share of sobbing.

Jonno had reappeared in Stokely for barely a few days and immediately wanted to take him somewhere important. They were eighteen; Robin had hugged him and then screamed at him, and Jonno had lifted the mind-wipe from him and Chloe before disappearing without leaving so much as a clue to where he was going.

Robin had arrived at Garside alone and spent two months tracking his ex-boyfriend down, which wasn't as stalkerish as it sounded – he just wanted to know where they stood, and things had never really ended between them. They were nineteen; Jonno had told him Vlad had already moved away again, and Robin had laughed out loud.

"Don't be daft, I'm not looking for Vlad."  
"Then who were you looking for?" If he wasn't very much mistaken, that was hope shining in Jonno's eyes, and he wasn't sure when it had happened but he knew that what they'd had, what they'd been to each other, was real, a thousand times better than the gaps where Vlad had been. Better than Vlad himself.  
"You. Always you."

Then he'd kissed him. It had been fumbling and awkward at first, but they'd found their way back to their old routines as naturally as breathing. This, whatever they were, wherever they went from here...

This, they would never forget.


	103. Kismet

**Taking liberties here, because he **_**did**_** say 'Kiss me, Hardy', but this sprung to mind and had to be written. With a nod to the BBC's **_**Sherlock**_**, which I own no more than their **_**Young Dracula**_**.**

**Wee slashy beastie. Enjoy!**

Bertrand did at least have the decency to wait until Erin left the room before laughing at him. Well, smirking at him from the shadows, which Vlad had learnt to interpret as Bertrand's own particular form of laughter.  
"Shut up, I was _sure _you said 'Kiss me'."  
"I said no such thing. You young people will find homoerotic subtext in anything."

Vlad hung his head for a moment, then his eyes flicked upwards towards his tutor.  
"Maybe that's why I always hear 'Kiss me' when you're talking." Bertrand's eyes darkened, and for a moment Vlad wasn't sure if it was anger or lust that made it so.  
"You should pay attention," he growled, advancing on the hapless Chosen One. Vlad did his best not to shrink back from the admittedly imposing figure, but he couldn't help backing away just a fraction as Bertrand leant right into his ear. "Some day, I really might."

Then he was gone, off into the night to do whatever it was Bertrand _did_ at night, and Vlad found himself in rather a hurry to take a nice, cold shower.


	104. Some Nights

**TRIGGER WARNING: attempted suicide.**

**Songfic based on 'Some Nights' by Fun. It does bother me a little because it falls into a trap I hate seeing writers fall into; points if you spot it.**

**Spoilers for series 4. I don't own the song, lyrics, or show.**

_Some nights I stay up, cashing in my bad luck..._

Vlad had never been much for introspection, before. Oh, he'd had his chats with Zoltan as a child, but for the most part, he would either express his thoughts _to_ somebody who might be able to assist him, or refuse to allow them purchase at all.

Now, though, he would lie awake for hours, running over his mistakes, trying to take them back. It was no use; it was too late. The past couldn't be undone.

_But I still wake up, I still see your ghost..._

When he opened his eyes, he could swear Bertrand was standing there, at the foot of his coffin, watching over him. The first time he'd seen him – and he knew it was a hallucination, but he clung to it all the same – he'd tried to say sorry, sobbed out his apologies until Bertrand had placed a finger on his own lips and simply shaken his head, a sad, soft smile telling him he was already forgiven.  
"I don't know how you could ever forgive me," Vlad had sobbed, and the apparition had _spoken_.  
"You did as I trained you to do, under pressure." He'd hesitated. "I'm proud of you."

Since then, Bertrand had been there, standing guard, every time he woke, and Vlad had taken to talking through his ideas and thoughts with him. Sometimes the apparition offered advice; sometimes he simply listened as Vlad sorted through his own jumbled emotions. Once, he had reached out as if to comfort him, but his hand had stopped a few inches from Vlad's shoulder and then dropped back to its owner's side.

The Chosen One was glad. He didn't want to be reminded that Bertrand was intangible, a figment. At least while the hallucination was present, he preferred to pretend.

_What do I stand for? Most nights, I don't know._

"What's the point, Bertrand?" He hadn't even bothered trying to sleep tonight; he was addressing empty air. "I thought... at least me being the Chosen One meant that it wasn't some blood-thirsty monster who'd doom us all." He let out a dark chuckle that sounded slightly unhinged even to his own ears. "But then I became just as bad. Sure, things are going wrong, I'll just slay everyone who tries to disagree with me, everyone who tries to help. I'll slay the only vampire who really loves me, the only one I love. Great plan, Vlad."

He reached out of his coffin and picked up a familiar piece of carving. He'd hated this object for so long, but now it was going to save him.  
"It's the same stake. Seems only right. The world's better off without me. Vampires will be stronger, slayers will be happier, even the breathers will be safer." He raised the stake and turned it towards his own heart, pretending not to notice the way his hands were shaking. "I hope we were wrong about the afterlife, Bertrand. I'd like to see you, one last time."

But as he plunged the stake towards his chest, he got his wish. The apparition was back, throwing out a hand and catching Vlad's, twisting the stake out of his hand.  
"_Bertrand?_" He hardly dared believe it; Bertrand looked equally stunned, staring from Vlad to the stake and back again.

_It's for the best you didn't listen..._

"I didn't know I could do that," his former tutor admitted, "...and I seem to be undead again."  
"You were really here? All those times I saw you-?" Bertrand nodded.  
"I couldn't touch – I was just... I was dead." He stared down at the stake in his hand. "Now I'm not."  
"But vampires don't have ghosts, we can't-"  
"Not a ghost. A guardian. The guardian of your destiny, as I always have been." Vlad stared at him blankly. "I suppose it's like what breathers call a guardian angel. For vampires, it's rare, but I suppose... I suppose you needed protecting." He held the stake up with a pointed glare.  
"But now... you're really back." His tutor looked down at himself.  
"Seems like it, yes. I'll have to look into it, but perhaps it's to do with the stake..."  
"Or a good deed?"  
"Not very vampiric."  
"Nor are guardian angels."  
"True." They stood, awkwardly, trying to process these new developments.

Vlad was the first to recover.  
"I'm sorry, Bertrand, I'm so sorry."  
"We covered this, Vlad. I forgave you before you even knew you'd been wrong. You acted wisely, given the evidence against me. I'm proud of you." Vlad shook his head; this was so wrong.  
"I won't forgive myself. _Blood_, I love you. How could I-?" But then Bertrand was pulling him from his coffin and wrapping him in the embrace he'd begun in the throne room, all those months ago.  
"I love you. We'll work through it together."

For now, he kissed him, and things began to feel better.


	105. First Bite

**Happy Thursday, everyone. Just a random little fluffy bit. Set around 4x03 I suppose? Slash.**

**Spoilers for 4x03. Sort of.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"Bertrand, you know why I have to get out of this," Vlad told him softly, the moment Erin was gone, "or I'd never ask you to compromise your principles. D'you think it doesn't make me sick, just thinking about you and her?" Bertrand was silent for a moment, and when he spoke it was with the subdued tone that had become so familiar since Sethius had risen.  
"I understand; I'll do as you ask." He stood, but Vlad caught his arm.  
"Just training, alright? Maybe cuddles, a kiss if you have to. If she tries anything beyond that, use any means necessary to get out." His tutor blinked at him. "I mean it, Bertrand."

Later, when their plan had failed, the two vampires sat together in Bertrand's room, ostensibly reading up on the proper protocol for a blood-binding.  
"I wish I could just tell them the truth."  
"It'll be all-out war if they find out. Are you ready for that?"  
"You could make me ready. I could tell them everything. They'll find out soon enough, anyway."  
"You need to play along until everything's in place. You know the Ramangas won't be happy when they find out they've been promised something they can never have."

Vlad turned to him, eyes dark.  
"Show me. I want to see." His tutor undid the first two buttons of his shirt and obediently pushed the fabric aside to reveal month-old scars. _The First Bite of the Chosen One._  
"I don't know where the Ramangas got those ideas about extra powers; even I'd never heard of th-" He stopped talking abruptly; Vlad had leant in, as if pulled by some invisible force, and pressed his lips to the marks. He ran kisses all over Bertrand's skin, lavishing the scars with more attention than Bertrand could ever have imagined receiving from anyone, let alone his beloved Chosen One. He'd been fortunate, really, that Vlad had bitten him a little lower than was traditional; he could hide the marks without resorting to those high collars that practically _screamed_ 'I'm hiding a bite mark'.  
"But you have them now. I'm glad; I'm glad it's someone I can trust." Bertrand had to close his eyes and stifle a moan; the words, the trust, meant so much more to him than the – admittedly sensational – physical feelings involved in Vlad's kisses.

"Vlad, we need to work out another plan-"  
"After."  
"After what?" Vlad smirked at him, finally pulling away from the bite marks and reaching up to take Bertrand's head between his hands instead.  
"After we're done kissing." As their lips touched, Bertrand got the distinct impression that there would be more than kissing before they got back to their original purpose, and since he could read Vlad's mind now he was fairly certain he could trust that impression.

Oh well. Planning could wait.


	106. Last Look

**Sequel to 'First Bite' (the previous Blood Droplet). Warning: canon compliant, more or less, so. Angsty slash. Enjoy.**

**SPOILERS FOR 4x09.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Vlad's mind raced. His family were in danger, trapped in a room full of sunlight. Yet Bertrand was here, taunting him about it, and... No, he had to save his family first, there was no time to deal with him now.

Once his father and siblings were free, however, he was left to realise that Bertrand was still unaccounted for, a loose cannon... and Erin was in the school somewhere, unaware of the treachery. He might not love her in that way – how could he even claim to know what love _was_, now that Bertrand had proven himself so utterly false? - but he had made her. He had to keep her safe; he owed her that much. Besides, there was nothing to stop his former tutor coming for his family again. Nobody but Vlad could stop him, and nobody but Vlad knew the powers his lover- _no_. Nobody else knew the powers his _enemy_ wielded.

He couldn't track Bertrand, so he sought out Erin, knowing that the older vampire would seek the undefended target as the path of least resistance in his quest to drive a literal stake through the Chosen One's heart. He'd already succeeded with a metaphorical one.

Erin was in the throne room and, sure enough, no sooner had he got there, still fuming over what the one person he should have been able to _trust_ had done to his family, than Bertrand appeared in the doorway. The garlic-muncher even had the gall to smile when he saw him, to make Vlad's stomach flip and his insides melt as if everything was still OK between them, as if he was still the man Vlad had been so relieved to find had inherited his powers through his First Bite.

For a moment, he almost dared to hope. Bertrand was talking about proof, and for a moment the Chosen One almost let himself believe that it was more than a last desperate bluff as Bertrand tried to save his own skin. His former friend was moving towards him, and he could hear Erin trying to say something, but she didn't understand, she didn't know how powerful Bertrand was now. There was no room for mercy. They would all be so much safer when the recipient of his First Bite was dust.

And then Bertrand's arms were around his shoulders and it was now or never, and he felt the older vampire's entire body seize up in shock. He'd never been so close to a vampire as they _crumbled_ before. He didn't have to move his head from its position just over Bertrand's shoulder in order to see the horrified, devastated expression on his face, to feel the stunned grief and – oh, that was rich – _betrayal_ that coursed through the man with his last thoughts. Every emotion ran through their mental connection and then it was abruptly severed, Bertrand's ashes collecting neatly in a pile at his master's feet.

It took a moment for Vlad's mind to recover from the sudden absence of Bertrand's, and then all he could think to do was snap a warning at Erin. They were safe now, he told himself as he left the room. They were finally safe.

He ignored the nagging feeling that something was wrong, that he had _done_ wrong. He had done what he had to.

He was better off wielding these powers alone.


	107. The New Song

**To restore some cheer after the last chapter; a band AU. Slash. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"These lyrics are beautiful, Bertrand." It was a love song, tender and true, but somehow shaped to fit Vlad's electric guitar riff-laden melody down to the ground. "Are they about someone in particular?" Bertrand seemed to be thinking very carefully about whether or not to answer.  
"Yes," he ventured, at last, "someone very dear to me."  
"You should dedicate it to them, on the album sleeve. Never fails to win anyone over, that." He just hoped his voice didn't sound as hollow to Bertrand as it did to him... but his bandmate was shaking his head.  
"No, I couldn't; it wouldn't look right." It was Vlad's turn to hesitate.  
"Bertrand... you know nobody cares, if it's a guy, right?" Bertrand shook his head, but it seemed like a confirmation of what Vlad – and most of the music industry – had suspected for a long time, rather than a denial.  
"It's not that, it's just..." His head snapped up, as if he'd just made a momentous decision and knew he was going to regret it later. "...it would look a bit vain to dedicate it to a fellow band member."

Vlad winced.  
"Oh, don't tell me you've fallen for Jonno as well." He turned away, trying to hide the way it stung to know that Jonno would have the dubious honour of breaking Bertrand's heart, rejecting him the way Bertrand himself had just inadvertently rejected Vlad. He began tuning his guitar – anything to take his mind off the pain – and was surprised when his bassist's hands came to cover his on the strings.  
"No," came a soft murmur right in Vlad's ear, deep tones that made him shiver, "I'm not really into drummers." The frontman closed his eyes, leant his body backwards against Bertrand, and let himself pretend for one foolish, inevitably catastrophic moment, that the other man meant what he wished he did.  
"Prefer a guy with better fingering?" A shock ran through his body with the press of lips to his neck, Bertrand's hands shifting from the guitar to rest on his hips.  
"Oh, Vlad, tell me if this isn't OK, but..." His contented sigh seemed to reassure the man, because he pressed soft lips to his neck again before wrapping his arms around the shorter man's waist and beginning to sing softly.

_The world is different when you're in it, I am not afraid..._

Vlad joined in with the harmony, knowing full well that any biography of the band would leave this out because it was ridiculously unrealistic. But it was happening. Bertrand was serenading him with the new song he'd written for him – for _Vlad! - _and he already knew that however the rest of the world responded to the track, to him it was always going to be one of their greatest hits.

_Wrap your arms around me, take me home._


	108. No More Waiting

**Sequel to Blood Droplet 83 – 'Wait'. Slash and het. I had to, OK? Enjoy.**

**Spoilers for the end of series 2 (catch up!) and 4x09.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"No." Will had never seen a face fall so far, so fast. "_No_." He turned to follow Bertrand's horror-stricken gaze and suddenly it all made sense. "No, Vlad, no, please."

But there he was, the Chosen One in all his glory. He didn't seem particularly disturbed by his apparent death, looking around him with an air of mild disinterest.  
"Really? This is it? I was expecting something a bit more... I don't know. Are you alright, Bertrand?"  
"No. _Blood_, you were supposed to survive, your reign should never have-"  
"Give me your hand. You too, Will." Will hurried to obey as Vlad, giving up on a sensible response from his former tutor, grabbed at Bertrand's fingers. "Hold on tight."

And then, as if it was nothing, he walked calmly out of the afterlife and let go.  
"Present for you, Ingrid. I knew _someone_ had to be there." Will looked round and his eyes met hers; those beautiful blue orbs that showed every emotion felt by the girl he'd do anything for.  
"..._Will?_" He nodded uncertainly; were they all dead now, or had Vlad somehow made them undead? He glanced around to see Vlad and Bertrand huddled together on the floor, tears streaming down the Chosen One's face as he murmured what sounded like a steady stream of apologies. Bertrand was simply stroking his lover's cheek with his thumb in stunned silence.

He turned back to the girl staring at him, treating her to the same careful scrutiny.  
"Ingrid..." It was really her. He opened his arms without thinking about it and she launched herself into them, clinging to him. She'd changed; something had softened her, made her vulnerable. He didn't care; he'd never hurt her.  
"Oh, Will, I've missed you, I thought I'd never see you again..." He didn't know what to say to that – somehow he doubted _I hoped you wouldn't for a very long time _would go over particularly well – so he kissed her instead.

Vlad had literally walked into the afterlife and stolen them, and all was right with the world.


	109. Reverse

**Request from RavenBowie. Sorry, this is the closest I could get to what you asked for without the Bertrand in my head going catatonic. Hope you enjoy.**

**AU, but some spoilers for series 4.**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

Bertrand watched the boy carefully, steeling himself. Blue eyes swept disdainfully around the room, a strand of dark hair fell over a pale face and was pushed irritably out of the way.  
"I told you to get out, Bertrand." His voice was calm, light, and Bertrand could only _look_, searching for something that wasn't there. "Any vampire with a shred of sense would have raced the dawn to the other side of the planet."  
"My place is here," he answered stiffly, waiting for Vlad to prowl into the room. He did, an arrogant smirk spreading across his face.  
"I rather think it's _my_ job to decide that." He put his hands on his hips, then seemed to change his mind and folded his arms instead. "And I think you should go, before things get _very_ unpleasant for you. If you carry on with this stupid 'shapeshifter' nonsense, well... spreading lies against me is treason, you know."  
"I'm not committing treason." There was the slightest tremor in his voice; Vlad's eyes narrowed, and there was no more time for hesitation.

It was incredible how easily the stake went through him, like a hot knife through butter as the breathers would say, and Bertrand had to choke back a sob as he watched those handsome features crumble in front of him. _Get it together. You have to finish what you started before someone finds you standing over a pile of ash, holding a stake. _He dropped it and sped off down the corridor, desperately seeking the most powerful weapon in the vampire world. He needed to find it, needed to hold it, to know it was safe.

He found it, at last, in Vlad's coffin room. That shouldn't have been surprising, but somehow it was.  
"Vlad." Before the boy could even look up from the magazine he'd been idly flicking through, sprawled on the sofa, Bertrand's arms were around him, clinging.  
"Bertrand, get off, you're gonna crumple it. I thought you were so obsessed with respecting the written w-"  
"It's you." Bertrand knew he sounded like a madman, but it didn't matter. "Thank _blood_, it's you, you're really you."  
"You've forgotten I shouted at you, haven't you?" Bertrand closed his eyes, forehead buried in the crook of Vlad's neck, an unforgivable intimacy but not a threat.  
"There is a pile of dust in my coffin room," he managed, low and urgent, "the shapeshifter is dead."  
"How do you know you haven't just dusted some random?" It took a few moments. "_Oh._"

Then Vlad was pushing him away, scrambling backwards.  
"You staked someone who looked like me?" Bertrand could only stare helplessly at him, but Vlad seemed to notice the way something had broken in his eyes. "How... how were you sure it wasn't me?" His valet hung his head.  
"You'd never talk about racing the dawn, you don't... walk like that, you don't stand like... I just knew. I, blood, Vlad, I ran here as soon as- I had to-"  
"You weren't sure." The Chosen One sounded disappointed, even hurt. "You staked someone who looked like me and you weren't sure."  
"I _was_ sure." Bertrand glanced up at him, checking he was still there, before his gaze dropped again. "I was sure until the moment they crumbled, and then... then I was so scared."

Vlad stared at him for a long while, the way he was hunched at the other end of the sofa, staring resolutely at the floor as if he was trying not to cry. But that was ridiculous. Bertrand didn't cry. And yet...  
"Bertrand." The vampire in question actually flinched. "I'm here. I'm safe. You must know me really well. And... I suppose you were right about the shapeshifter."  
"You only have my word-"  
"And that should have been enough, before. I'm sorry." He reached over to squeeze his valet's hand.  
"You're not... You're not going to execute me for treason?"  
"I'm going to add another medal to that uniform of yours." Bertrand looked up, surprised. "And, if you don't mind, I'm going to hug you."  
"I... I don't mind at all."

The Chosen One scooted wordlessly along the sofa, wrapped his tutor's arms around him, and opened his magazine again.  
"Read with me?"  
"Don't you need to go and sort out-"  
"Nobody goes in your room, and I trust you. I don't need to do a headcount, if that's what you mean. Now shh, and get reading. I was halfway down the page and I'm not stopping for you."

There was silence, except for the sound of pages turning.


	110. Medal

**Sequel to 'Reverse', although I suppose you don't technically have to read that first. It is, however, only the previous chapter so just go and have a read. Done that? Good. This is slashy. Enjoy.**

**Spoilers for 3x13.**

**Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me.**

Bertrand was, once again, kneeling at Vlad's feet, just as he had after he'd betrayed his trust and taken the Book. How things had changed, then. Now, they were changing again.

"Rise, Bertrand du Fortunesa," the Chosen One intoned dutifully, and then lowered his voice. "I'm not bending down to pin this on." Bertrand stood and allowed the medal to be attached to his uniform. Vlad smiled at him. "I'm proud of you." For a moment, he looked as if he was about to whisper something else, but then he stepped back and the ceremony continued.

Later, as he hung his uniform carefully in his wardrobe, he paused, hand lingering on the new ribbon as he glanced down at the patch of floor – now clean – where the shapeshifter's dust had fallen. It had looked like Vlad, _so_ like him, and Bertrand still took every excuse to avoid the room when he could. He fixed his eyes back on the medal. Vlad was proud of him. He smoothed the silk with his thumb one last time and stepped backwards – colliding with another cold body as he did so. He spun round to catch the unexpected visitor, holding onto his arms to steady him.

"It looks good," Vlad remarked, now similarly attired to Bertrand in less formal clothing and apparently unphased by being almost knocked over by his valet, "you deserve it."  
"Thank you." He didn't know what else to say. He was still holding onto Vlad's arms, but the Chosen One didn't seem to mind.  
"There..." he scratched at his neck awkwardly, "there was something else I wanted to say, earlier." Bertrand frowned.  
"You said you were proud of me." Had it all been a lie? Vlad must have noticed the way his face fell.  
"I am. I _am_, Bertrand. But there was something else, too."

After a few moments' silence, Bertrand raised an eyebrow.  
"Well?"  
"I love you." He couldn't be hearing right; it had almost sounded as if...  
"...What?"  
"I love you. Fog, no, I'm sorry, this was a mistake, I shouldn't have... this is your day and I'm ruining-" Bertrand cut off his stumbling apologies with a kiss.

It was chaste, and gentle, and utterly desperate, the older vampire clutching at the Chosen One's back; he didn't dare believe this was real, that he could really have heard- but then as he tried to pull away, Vlad followed him, pushing the wardrobe door closed and pinning Bertrand against it. He paused for a moment, their lips barely an inch apart.  
"Is this... is this something you want?"  
"Blood, Vlad, if you do-" That seemed to be all the confirmation Vlad needed.

Twenty minutes later, they'd relocated to the sofa in Vlad's room and were sitting together, Bertrand absent-mindedly stroking Vlad's hair as the shorter man snuggled up to him.  
"When I take my official residence, will you come?" Bertrand glanced down at him, surprised.  
"I was never going to let you go without me. If nothing else, I'm your valet."  
"No," Vlad murmured, "not any more. You were always too special for that."  
"Then what-?"  
"Mine. Just... just mine." Bertrand bent his head awkwardly to kiss Vlad's cheek.  
"I suppose it would be treason to hope you'd be mine too." Vlad sat up to beam at him.  
"Not treason. True. Love you."

He settled back against his chest, and Bertrand sighed contentedly, his arm around Vlad's waist to hold him safe. His Chosen One didn't see him mouth the words in return.

He would hear them one day.


	111. Meeting

**Bit OOC but here you go. Prompt from redrachxo: Chloe/Bertrand - first meeting. Takes place in the same universe as 'Study'.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"Excuse me." Chloe turned; she had to stop wandering around after dark on her own, it seemed to bring out the weirdos. This man _seemed_ well-spoken and neatly dressed, but that didn't mean he wasn't a psycho killer. Still, it would do no harm to see what he wanted; he looked a little lost.

"Can I help you?"  
"I'm looking for... is there a hotel nearby? I'm new to the area, and I'd really like to have somewhere to stay by dawn."  
"Funny way of phrasing it." Her voice was casual, but her hand strayed towards her bag and the stake concealed inside it. Well, it was a wedge doorstop, actually, but it was pointy and made of wood and she was sure it would do the job if it came to it. "What are you, a vampire or something?" If he wasn't, she could always pass it off as a joke.  
"Vlad said he'd mind-wiped everyone." The stranger seemed to realise his mistake. "I mean... yeah, a vampire, funny. A hotel, please?"  
"You know Vlad?"

She'd led him, in the end, down the main road to the Travelodge just outside town, and used the phone there to tell her parents she was staying with a friend. She wasn't sure why she was trusting this vampire – Bertrand, he'd told her his name was – but he hadn't killed her on the way here so she supposed he might not be too dangerous after all.  
"Why are you here, then?"  
"Vlad threw me out." She suspected there was more to that than he was letting on, but she didn't question it, too busy wondering if she could beat him to the door. She'd hoped he was a _friend_ of Vlad's, but... "He thought I was working against him. Blood, I hope he's alright."

Chloe peered at him anxiously; he seemed genuinely exhausted, broken somehow.  
"When was this?" She barely realised she was thinking out loud until he answered.  
"Three nights ago. I thought it best to make sure I wasn't followed. I'd hoped to find Robin Branagh, but... I'm so tired."  
"He's my brother," Chloe explained, "and he'd probably punch you. He was broken up when Vlad left, and then when the mind-wipe wore off..." Bertrand nodded.  
"He has that effect on people. Though his mind-wipes have improved." He sighed. "You don't have to keep me company, you know. It's very kind of you, but-"  
"But you probably want to sleep. Sorry, I'll get out of your-"  
"I just meant that you don't know me, and I'm a vampire. You should probably just leave me alone."

Chloe liked to think of herself as a sensible girl. People often said she showed a wisdom far beyond her seventeen years. So, if anyone asked, she'd blame the late hour and vampiric charisma for what happened next. Bertrand seemed as startled as she was to find her lips on his, her tongue probing; he opened his mouth to gasp in shock more than to give her access, but she took the opportunity to savour the taste of him. At last, he came to his senses and pulled away, and she hung her head apologetically.  
"Soy," she murmured, "I think I'm safe." There was silence, and she dared a glance up from beneath her eyelashes. Bertrand was staring at her, fingers absent-mindedly tracing his own lips.  
"...Good," he managed at last, "it's nice to have someone to talk to."

She wasn't sure how to respond to that, so she stood and began fiddling with the TV in the corner; as she'd half-expected, he watched her as if she was landing a dragon on the moon, all wide-eyed awe and incomprehension.  
"Vampires, you just can't do technology, can you? Here, this is how you work it." She handed him the remote and guided him through it, surprised when he switched it to a local news broadcast and got her to show him how to mute it. "What's wrong with sound?"  
"It would be rude to let the thing talk over you." She settled onto the small sofa – he'd got the best room they offered – beside him and shook her head.  
"I'm not saying anything. No doubt you'll want to scope the place out." He hesitated, then turned the sound back on, her fingers brushing over his on the remote as she reminded him how to do it.

By the time they'd reached the end of the main story, her head was on his shoulder and he was sitting as straight as he could, stiff as a board, clearly uncomfortable. She would move, any second, but her eyes were closing and she just needed a few more moments to gather her energy...

* * *

Chloe woke that morning in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room. Raising her head, she noticed that the TV had been turned off. She also spotted her shoes and coat by the door where she'd left them, and realised she was otherwise fully clothed. On the sofa sat a weary-looking vampire, head cushioned on his hands on the back of the seat. She glanced at her watch; she was going to be late for college if she didn't get home soon.  
"Bertrand?" It was the barest whisper, but he sat up as if she'd poked him with an electric cattle prod. "Thank you. You should have taken the bed, it's yours." He blinked at her, and she wondered what Vlad had been up to recently for Bertrand to seem so bewildered by simple courtesy.  
"You were tired."  
"So are you." She stood and retrieved her coat, slipping her shoes on as she spoke. "I've got to run. Would it be OK if I came round again this evening? Just to see how you're settling in." He nodded, frowning, and she couldn't resist holding her arms out for a hug. He granted her unspoken request as if in a daze, and she pecked him on the cheek for good measure. "I'll see you tonight, then. Go to bed, Bertrand."

She wasn't sure why she was taking such an interest – she wasn't Robin, after all, vampires held no particular fascination for her – but she found herself ridiculously glad she'd run into that stranger in the dark. It wasn't as if she especially lacked friends, but she couldn't help thinking that Bertrand du Fortunesa was going to be among the very best of them.

The evening couldn't come fast enough.


	112. Collection

**Prompt from redrachxo: What if Mori hadn't been dusted when Sethius rose? How would he react to the events of 4x09? Enjoy the angst.**

**SPOILERS FOR EVERYTHING UP TO AND INCLUDING 4x09.**

**Disclaimer: Oh, if only it were mine. Wait - wait, Eliseo Mondadori aka Mori _is _mine.**

Vlad himself opened the door, and his eyes narrowed in anger as he recognised the visitor.  
"You."  
"Grandness." Mori bowed his head apologetically, knowing that he could lawfully be staked for treason. "I came to collect Bertrand." The Chosen One sneered unpleasantly at that; clearly he was taking the impending separation from his favourite tutor harder than Bertrand had imagined. Mori was sure he would be pleased to hear that.  
"I'll go and get him."

The plan had been simple, and arranged by email; Bertrand no longer felt safe or wanted at Garside, and needed an escape, however temporary. He simply had to find proof of the latest threat on the Chosen One's unlife, and then he could leave Vlad to deal with it. The Chosen One was quite powerful enough to eliminate an enemy, after all – he was just slow to recognise them.

_Besides, _Bertrand's email had said, _if nothing else, you can help us take it down. It won't be able to impersonate you if it doesn't know you're here. Come in a week, if you don't hear from me before then. I should be ready to go._

The week had passed, and here Mori was, standing on the doorstep of the school, barely an hour after sundown. Vienna would do Bertrand good; it always did. Admittedly, this time his oldest friend seemed unlikely to indulge in their usual activities, but it was clear that he needed some time away from Vlad, time to think, time perhaps to talk it through. From the increasingly frequent messages he'd been receiving, it seemed clear to Mori that Bertrand's relationship with the Chosen One had turned toxic; not only was his love unrequited but his loyalty and intelligence were being doubted.

They'd exchanged a swift rally of emails, seven nights ago, and the first had been a garbled mess.

_Mori, I've got to get out. He thinkd I'm a traiotr. B_

Bertrand never allowed an email to go out with a typo, let alone two, and he never used names if he was thinking straight. Mori had replied that he could come to Vienna, that he would be at Garside with an army if Bertrand wished it, that he could come alone and pick him up. The next email had been calmer.

_I can't leave him unprotected. He doesn't know about the shapeshifter – I just need time to make sure he understands the danger. After that, I'd love to come to Vienna. He can deal with it on his own. Besides, if nothing else, you can help us..._

Mori snapped out of his thoughts; the Chosen One was back, and he was holding a small box.  
"Here you go. You're lucky Erin's in a sentimental mood; I wanted them flushed." Mori reached out with trembling hands and relieved the Chosen One of his burden; the almost weightless feeling of the container in his hands confirmed his worst fears.  
"Ashes?"  
"He was a traitor, twice over. Don't let me see you here again." The door slammed in his face and Mori stood for a long moment, staring at the box in his hands, all that remained of the vampire he had once had such hopes for.

Bertrand could have done anything, he could have changed the world; he could have ruled it, had he wished. Mori would have loved him no matter what he had chosen to do with his unlife, but he had been so self-sacrificing, so wholly devoted to the service of the Chosen One... and it had cost him everything. It had cost _them _everything. Mori could hardly pretend that he had expected to be chosen over the Grand High Vampire, over the entire focus of Bertrand's existence, but nor could he deny that his days had been filled with images of his best friend and sometimes-lover for many years now. He had hoped to show him the glories of Vienna anew; they could, perhaps, have travelled together for a little while. It was something they had always said they would one day do, but they'd fallen into the habit of travelling alone and meeting along the way. Now they would never have the chance.

The door creaked open and Mori's gaze snapped up from the box to fix on the vampire standing there, clutching a familiar case; surely it had all been a joke, a cruel trick. This box of dust contained nothing more sinister than the contents of a vacuum bag. Bertrand was ready to go. But it was the breather who stood in the doorway – not a breather any more, Mori realised – holding out the possessions Bertrand had packed.  
"Vlad will just have them burned otherwise. I think Bertrand would have wanted you to have them." He reached out once more, accepting the suitcase; it was all he could do not to break down. "I'm sorry. I couldn't stop him." Mori shook his head; he just needed to get out, to get back to Vienna, to take what was left of Bertrand _home_. His home was where Mori was.  
"Thank you," he managed, and took off.

He landed just before midnight, clinging desperately to a box of ashes, a case of clothes, and the sorry remains of his own broken heart.

_And death to my enemies._ Dracula would pay for this.


	113. French

**Directly inspired by **_**Being **__**Human**_**, with thanks to redrachxo for suggesting I apply it to YD****.**** No spoilers. Enjoy!  
****Slash!  
****Disclaimer: None of this is mine.  
****NB: All the accents disappeared when this went up, so sorry. French is accurate to the best of my ability but I'm not a native speaker so there are likely errors.**

"French is horrible. Why does it have to be so _hard_?" With hindsight, Vlad should have realised he was complaining to the wrong person. Bertrand looked as if he'd personally slapped his mother.  
"French is a beautiful language, the language of love! I've brought people to their knees with just a few words in French." Vlad raised an eyebrow.  
"Yeah? Go on then. Give me your best seductive French talk." His tutor was suddenly very close, leaning over the desk to look him right in the eyes, murmuring softly.

"_Je ne pense pas que tu comprends comment je t'aime. Je suis professeur, tu es etudiant, mais c'est vrai; mon amour est vrai, et je ne sais pas la facon juste pour expliquer mon couer. Je veut te prendre, te tenir, t'embrasser. Mais ca ne peut jamais etre. Tu es Celle Choisie, l'E__lu." _Some of the fierce heat of Bertrand's first words had drained away by the time he reached the last, and he spoke more slowly, his words caressing Vlad's ear as he leant closer to deliver them. It was instinct that drove him to turn his head and kiss the older vampire, and he suspected that it was only shock that spurred his tutor to kiss him back. It didn't matter; what mattered was that it felt incredible, and he only wished he'd understood a word of what Bertrand had said.

At last, he pulled away, observing the unusual brightness in Bertrand's eyes, smiling as he realised he'd only acted on an impulse they'd obviously _both_ felt. Bertrand shook his head with a sigh, but his lips were turned upwards, too.  
"You never did listen to me."  
"I wish I knew what you were saying." Bertrand regarded him silently for a while, then shrugged.  
"I called you a grapefruit, for one thing. The rest was mostly nonsense." The Chosen One chuckled as he pulled him back in for another kiss.

"Sexiest nonsense ever."

* * *

**For those of you who speak as much French as Vlad:**

_**I don't think you understand how I love you. I'm a teacher, you're a student, but it's true; my love is true, and I don't know the proper way to explain my heart. I want to take you, to keep you, to kiss you. But that can never be. You are the Chosen One.**_

**Nonsense, indeed.**


	114. History

**Random angsty rewrite of 04x09 onwards so SPOILERS FOR ALL OF SERIES 4. Slash. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: You would think it would be mine by now, but nope.**

_In 1468, the Vampire High Council was dissolved for the second time due to... due to..._

Bertrand hung his head; the distraction techniques weren't working any more. He couldn't help but think about the fate that had awaited the last occupant of this cage. She had been spared a fiery torment only because it was Vlad's will that she should live; he was here on Vlad's orders, and had been for days.

_Calm down, Bertrand. At least she got the stake away from him. In 1512..._

But there had been a _stake_; Vlad had tried to slay him, without trial, without hope of an explanation. He'd found proof, he'd done everything that had been asked of him, and only Erin's pleading had saved him. Now he just had to wait until-

_In... 1512..._

Would it be a Carpathian Feast, he wondered, or a stake after all, or death by dawn? His throat was parched; would the next drink he was offered be Holy Water? Would he get a trial, at least? Would Vlad try to get information out of him first?

_In 2012, the traitor Bertrand du Fortunesa was summarily put to death for crimes against the Chosen One. His accomplices carried out their plot without him, and so ended the reign of Vladimir Dracula IV._

No, he couldn't think like that. He refused to sit here and compose his own obituary, his own footnote to the history books. And he certainly refused to compose Vlad's.

_In 1512, the Council was reconvened, though only three of the original members who'd been disbanded returned..._

There were footsteps outside; he tensed against the bars, hoping that this wasn't the end; he wasn't _afraid _to die for Vlad, but not like this, not when all it would achieve was leaving his Chosen One unprotected. But then the Chosen One himself was throwing the cage door open and – rather than dragging Bertrand out to use the facilities, as Ingrid had a couple of times – climbing in alongside him. Vlad promptly burst into tears, curled against his former tutor, sobbing weakly.  
"I should have listened to you. I nearly died- I'm so sorry, Bertrand, I should have listened."

* * *

_In 2012, the Chosen One narrowly escaped death at the hands of his treacherous half-brother and a powerful shapeshifter. He credits his advisor, Bertrand du Fortunesa, with his lucky survival, despite the fact that du Fortunesa was imprisoned at the time on false charges. The story of du Fortunesa's subsequent rise to the rank of Consort is now legend, and at time of writing, the pair still rule the vampire world together._

Bertrand set his pen down with a sigh. He wished he could go back in time and tell his former self exactly what he'd be writing in the history books, years later. It would have been a comfort, in the cage. He blew out the candle and stood; it was time for his coffin, and Vlad would be waiting for him.


	115. Contagious

**Just a tiny little drabbley thing 'cos I hadn't posted in a while. Slash. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine!**

Bertrand had tried, he'd fought so hard, but in the end he couldn't suppress a shiver as he hauled Vlad closer and moulded his own body against the Chosen One's back.  
"I told you so," the Chosen One mumbled, "I knew if you kept bringing me soup and cuddling me you'd get sick too." Bertrand groaned, trying to get impossibly closer as if the other vampire had any heat to share with him.  
"Worth it."

"Mm, you old romantic." Vlad was shaking with the cold too, though his room was well-heated and the coffin they lay in was piled high with blankets. "Wish I had the energy to roll over and kiss you." Bertrand pressed his lips against the boy's neck, trying to reassure him that they were close enough, that Bertrand knew how he felt about him.

"Still," Vlad continued, "when I'm better and you're still sick, I'll look after _you_. And you're too ill to argue with me."  
"You can't, you're the Ch..." Bertrand trailed off with another shiver.  
"See?" Vlad murmured as he felt sleep rising to claim him once more. "Love you."  
"You too," Bertrand managed, and closed his eyes.


	116. Cage

**I don't even know what this is, it was written at about 5am. Slash. Enjoy!**

**SPOILERS FOR ALL OF SERIES FOUR. AU from 4x09 I suppose.**

**Disclaimer: Obviously it's not mine. If it was mine, I'd be too busy working on it to post this sort of thing.**

Bertrand lay in the cage and waited for something to happen. Much as he hoped that that _something_ would be Vlad coming to let him out, he knew it was far more likely that the shapeshifter would appear.

It wouldn't do to show the fear, even if he was feeling it, so he'd flopped onto his back, cushioning his head on one arm, the way breathers sunbathed in television adverts for holidays. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been in one place for as long as he'd been at Garside; perhaps he should have kept moving. If he had, he certainly wouldn't be in this stupid swinging cage.

Wait – the cage didn't swing on its own, and he'd been lying still. He lifted his head, trying not to seem too interested, to find Vlad pushing at the bars, gazing off into space. At least, it _looked_ like Vlad, but Bertrand wasn't sure; there was something off about the vacant expression, the way he was standing.  
"Oh. Shapeshifter." He dropped his head back onto his arm to stare up at the ceiling. "Something you wanted? Or are you just here to gloat?"  
"Oh, you're _good_." Bertrand tensed, then closed his eyes and made a conscious effort to try to relax. That was his own voice, mocking him. "It takes quite a special mind to tell the difference." He lifted his head, hoping it looked as if he was just acknowledging the compliment, but from the smirk that graced his doppelganger's face it seemed he'd failed to keep the disturbed frown from his own expression. He was staring at _himself_, through the bars of a cage in the Draculas' dungeon, and he was a sitting duck. Oh, how he wished it had been Vlad who'd come to fetch him.

Bertrand liked to think of himself as brave, but courage wasn't the absence of fear. Courage was facing up to it. And Bertrand didn't have much choice but to face his fear now... even if his fear _was_ his face. He sat up, suddenly, determined not to waste the opportunity to get a proper look at himself. He hadn't seen his reflection in centuries, after all. He studied the shapeshifter intently, ignoring the churning sensation in his stomach, wondering if it was the straight hairstyle that made him look so much older than he remembered or if that particular effect was down to, well, _age_. The coat, though – the coat suited him, and while they were a pain to lace up each time he put them on he had to concede that he was _rocking_ those boots. The shapeshifter seemed briefly puzzled – even uncomfortable – until it worked out what he was doing.  
"Oh, _very_ clever. Yes, it's going to be a shame to waste that brain, but there you are. You got too close, you worked it out. I can't give you the chance to prove it. And I didn't learn to shapeshift to become a vampire mirror for half-fangs."

The air around his double shifted until an unfamiliar figure stood before him; a woman.  
"Elizabeta, I presume." She smiled humourlessly; the cold fire of insanity burned in her eyes. It was a struggle not to shrink back out of pure instinct.  
"The one and only, in the flesh. My, we have been a busy boy, haven't we? Done our homework." She stepped closer to the cage and Bertrand straightened up as well as he could without standing. If this was it – and he had a horrible feeling it might be – he was going to go out like the soldier he'd once been, staring death right in the face for the second time. "Too bad it won't save you. You know, Malik likes you; if you hadn't interfered you could have been sat at my son's right hand very soon." She didn't seem too upset that he was missing out on this fabulous opportunity, however. "And now you're dust."

She raised a hand... and disintegrated. As the dust cleared, Vlad's grim face came into sight, fixed on his tutor.  
"Ingrid, go and lock Malik up. Upstairs somewhere will do." He moved forward as she left, stepping over the dust of the shapeshifter as the door closed behind her and they were alone.  
"You took your time," Bertrand managed weakly.  
"Sorry. I wanted to be sure about Malik... you know it's going to break Dad's cold, unbeating heart." He was stood right against the bars of the cage, now, but he showed no signs of planning to unlock it. Bertrand shifted awkwardly to a kneeling position so that he could reach out and put a hand on Vlad's shoulder.  
"Are you alright? You did a good job. The whole plan was excellent."  
"You came up with most of it." And then Vlad was leaning closer still, as if to whisper a secret, and Bertrand pressed his face against the bars so he could hear better – only to be surprised as Vlad's lips pressed gently against his.

He didn't fight it; he'd struggled against his feelings for too long, and this was too much. It was simply unfair of the universe to present such temptation in the form of Vlad's lips, Vlad's tongue, and expect him to refuse it for simple reasons of prudence. No, he was giving in, and he was going to enjoy it while it lasted. And it lasted for longer than he'd expected; Vlad was exploring his mouth at a leisurely pace, before drawing back and finally fitting the key into the lock, swinging the cage door open.

Bertrand was out in seconds, taking advantage of his newfound freedom to pull Vlad into his arms.  
"Thanks for not letting her slay me." Vlad shrugged.  
"I'm sorry, about kissing you-"  
"I'm not sorry you did." He tentatively raised a hand to run through Vlad's hair, smiling as the younger vampire practically purred under his touch. "I wouldn't mind if you did it again."

So Vlad did.  
"Sorry," he murmured when he pulled back again, "I don't usually take such liberties with bait."  
"The trap's over, I'm not bait anymore." Vlad smiled at him for a moment before a tiny chuckle escaped him.  
"I've got to stop kissing people through the bars of that cage." Bertrand's face fell for a moment at the reminder of how much time Vlad had spent doting on Erin while he begged for crumbs of the Chosen One's approval. But then Vlad was remedying his mistake, making up for lost time, pushing Bertrand up against the wall of the dungeon and running hungry kisses up and down his neck; a vampire's claim. He'd never done _that_ to Erin.

All in all, Bertrand thought that this whole being-caged-as-bait experience could have turned out far worse.


	117. Vow

**A random rarepair, which means it's for Starrrz because she gets excited about rarepairs. Of course, it's also for redrachxo because she suggested the pairing in the first place. No idea where this plot-type thing came from, it just happened. Het. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Mina's hands shook as she applied another dash of stasis spray.  
"I'm sure you can overdose on that stuff, you know." Bertrand didn't sound particularly _bothered_, but she supposed it was nice of him to pretend to care. "And you've already taken three odourless garlic tablets."  
"Fine." She snapped her bag shut and placed it carefully on top of a nearby cupboard. "Let's get on with it, then."  
"I was told breathers tended towards the overly romantic, but I never believed it until now." She glared at him; the last thing she needed right now was his sarcasm.  
"I'm a slayer. And this isn't a romance. You know exactly what it is."  
"Yeah." He began to move slowly towards her, and she understood for the first time how easy it would be to find herself in his thrall. "You need to be held, touched. _Enjoyed_."

She took a step backwards, finding herself backed up against a table. She tore her eyes from his, disgusted with herself.  
"I swore, on Eric's grave, that I'd never let another man touch me. But you're not a man... You're a monster." Bertrand didn't look offended in the slightest; in fact, if she had to define his expression at that moment she'd probably call it _amused_.  
"You think he'd prefer this?"  
"No, I think he'd be appalled. _I'm _appalled." She drew a deep, ragged breath. "But I made my promise, and I need someone."  
"Well, then." He tucked his fingers under her chin, gently but firmly encouraging her to look at him. "Let's not waste any more time."


	118. Duty

**Sequel to 'Vow' (previous chapter) because what is life without a little extra angst? Thanks to everyone who's reviewed lately, and those who've left requests - I will try to get to them. Enjoy this!**

**Disclaimer: Oh, really. Of course it's not mine.**

"Bertrand, where have you been?" Vlad seemed irritated, which was a little unfair in Bertrand's opinion; he'd only been gone for about an hour. "I need you to look over this document for me. And I meant what I said yesterday - do _anything_ you can to keep-"  
"Keep the slayers onside, yes. I don't think Ms Van Helsing will display _quite_ so much animosity towards us in the future."  
"Ingrid was right, then? She fell to temptation?" Bertrand frowned; Vlad seemed a little _too _detached, _too _calculating of late. It was the same uneasy feeling he'd got when they were trying to get rid of Adze.  
"She accepted what comfort I could offer, yes." Vlad grimaced, handing him a piece of paper.  
"Too much information. Anyway, this needs to be proofread by the end of the day, and I need to know everything you can find out about candidacy for the High Council as soon as possible. Ingrid's on the warpath and I can't take an official stance until I know what I'm talking about." He turned away, the implicit dismissal clear in the set of his shoulders as he began hunting through the files on his desk.

Bertrand found himself, ten minutes later, abandoning the document temporarily in favour of a shower. He turned the temperature high and scrubbed at his skin until it stung, half a bar of soap completely used up on the cause. Vlad had known what he was asking Bertrand to do, had _ordered_ the seduction of a second woman in as many months, and the older vampire had obeyed. At least this one had wanted him – he truly believed she'd found some comfort in their time together – but Bertrand had no interest in her beyond a sort of professional tolerance. He had always maintained that there were some things he would never allow himself to do out of a sense of duty, but in recent weeks he had found himself doing almost all of them. He felt dirty, and all the soap and hot water in the world couldn't get him clean again.

He didn't have time to scrub another imaginary layer of grime from his skin. There was work to be done.


	119. Case

**Werepuppy had some work to do so I promised her a drabble for every 200 words finished. There are more but these two are the YD ones.**

**SLASH**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

It was like a scene from a nightmare; Vlad walked into the training room, ready for a vigorous training session to wipe out the strains of the day – and then, if he was lucky, a good long cuddle with his favourite tutor – to find said tutor struggling to close his suitcase.  
"Going somewhere?" he managed, barely managing to keep his tone casual. Bertrand glanced up, caught.  
"Vlad... I lost track of time..." He hung his head. "I arranged us a holiday. It was supposed to be a sur-" Suddenly he found his arms full of excited Chosen One. "...Surprise."


	120. Cake

**Werepuppy had some work to do so I promised her a drabble for every 200 words finished. There are more but these two are the YD ones.**

**SLASH**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"What the-?" When Bertrand landed that evening having spent a day stuck in a Council guest crypt, all he wanted was to cuddle up with Vlad in his coffin and sleep for a week. However, he was forced to spend a precious minute making sure none of the firefighters swarming the school saw him change from his bat form. "Vlad?" He rushed to make sure his Chosen One was safe – only to spot him sitting glumly on the steps outside the kitchen, watching the chaos.  
"I made you a cake," he mumbled into Bertrand's shoulder. "Happy birthday." Bertrand kissed him.


	121. Reassurance

**Set during 'Therapy'. Request for RavenBowie – I hope you like it. Not a drabble as requested, because I wanted more words for this rather rare pair. Slash. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Clearly not mine.**

"I can't even find anyone who's seen him. Did you have any luck?"  
"No. No, Vladdy doesn't want to be found, and it seems that he's finally developed the skills to escape detection." The Count gave Bertrand a shrewd look. "I suppose I have you to thank for that."

The tutor hung his head, but it didn't seem as if he was being blamed for Vlad's recent actions at all.  
"I'll keep looking-"  
"This evening, yes, but the sun has risen and all that remains is to go to bed." He paused. "It might seem inappropriate, given that my son is missing, but... would you care to join me?"

Bertrand hesitated, taking in every aspect of the Count's expression and posture, searching the details for clues to his mood. Was he hiding anger? Did he mean to trick him somehow, to catch him off-guard? But the impression the Count gave was that of a lost and lonely man, one who had been betrayed by his own son and feared he would be left alone. For Bertrand's part, he craved reassurance that the Count's good favour had not been lost, that he wasn't to blame for the way Vlad had been taken over by his reflections. He had spent so long alone, and now if he was to be abandoned by the Chosen One it was some comfort not to be rejected by his father.

"If that's what you want, I'd be happy to oblige." The Count smiled wanly, thankfully used to Bertrand's reserved nature. Though that wouldn't stop him being sarcastic about it.  
"Curb your enthusiasm, Bertrand, I don't want you straining yourself." He leant in to whisper in his ear, glad that Ingrid and the ever-resentful Renfield were nowhere to be seen. "_Yet._"


	122. Mating Pair

**Random little thing that came out of a conversation redrachxo and I were having the other day. Het. Enjoy!**

**SPOILERS FOR ALL OF SERIES FOUR**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine, do be serious.**

"Malik," the Count began in a deceptively even tone that would have immediately tipped either of his younger children off to the fact that they were in Big Trouble, "that Science teacher Miss McCauley's been _fraternising _with said something rather interesting earlier."  
"Yeah?" Malik did not have the benefit of his siblings' experience, and remained blissfully unaware of the danger he was in. "What'd he say?"  
"He said he spotted a _mating pair_ of bats flapping about near the roof... while you and Erin were supposed to be distracting him. I don't like the man, but he does seem to know his bats, so I'm asking you _once –_ is he right? Have you two been-?"  
"Yeah." Malik seemed smug. "She can't get enough of me. Dracula charm, right, Dad?"

"_What were you thinking?_" The Count's ouburst caught his eldest son off-guard and he could do nothing but silently search for words as his father continued. "The _only_ thing any self-respecting vampire should be sticking in a former slayer is his _fangs_... and that bat's flown."  
"But Dad-"  
"I don't want to hear of any more funny business between you two. The girl can't be trusted."  
"I can do whatever – _whoever_ – I like!" Malik stormed towards the door, preparing to slam it, and the Count timed his malicious lie perfectly.  
"He said it was great to see a pregnant female in the wild like that." Malik's step faltered, and then he continued into the corridor. He forgot to slam the door.


	123. Coming Home

**Inspired by 'I'm Coming Home' by J. Cole feat. Skylar Grey. Bit angsty, slash if you squint I suppose? Enjoy.**

**Set after the end of 4x09 so SPOILERS for that.**

**Disclaimer: It's not mine, of course.**

Bertrand put his head down and kept walking, rain lashing at his back and running down his face as he fixed his eyes on the ground and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

_He'd just tried to hug him. He'd been unarmed, he'd been _smiling_. Vlad was the only person he was ever physically affectionate to, and he'd made him pay dearly for it. He'd called him a traitor. He'd broken his heart, and then he'd thrust a stake into it._

As the sun rose, he ducked into a particularly dark grove of trees, threw his coat over himself, and just hoped that it wouldn't get too bright, that he wouldn't be discovered. When evening came again, he stood, slipped his arms into his sleeves, and carried on along the road, trying to ignore the desperate aching weariness in his bones.

_He'd woken, to his surprise. Moreover, he'd woken with the reassuring solidity of a lid above him. Had it just been a terrible dream? Could he really be in his coffin after all, safe and sound? But closer inspection revealed that the lid was made of stone, not wood; he was in some sort of tomb. When he got out, it became clear that he was nowhere he'd ever been before; it was a dark, dank cave with the stone sarcophagus at the centre and the ravings of a madman daubed in Aramaic on every wall and ceiling._

Bertrand hated straight roads; they seemed to go on forever, and this was no exception. It was still raining – which, he supposed, was at least a sign of how far he'd come – and the drizzle washed out the houses and trees that should have served as scenery and landmarks to leave nothing but a featureless landscape, through which he seemed to be making no progress whatsoever.

_He emerged from Sethius' apparent den of madness – he had to dig his way out – only to recoil from the hot middle-eastern sun. When night fell, he got himself cleaned up and used the stars to determine his course, straight back home to Vlad. Yes, the boy had killed him, but where else did he have to go?_

After so many weary days – weeks, now, he was sure, if not months – of walking, he was beginning to wonder if everything at Garside had just been a dream. Something must have happened to him on his lonely search, and he'd been entombed, and there was no Chosen One to find his way back to. His heart, though, told him that wasn't so. He had to believe it.

_He stopped, briefly, in his old hometown, and checked for messages at the post office. If none of it had been real, there would surely be a letter from Mori or Don. But no such letter awaited him, and he travelled on._

"Vlad," he managed to choke out, when Renfield opened the door to the drenched and bedraggled vampire, "I need to see Vlad." Fortunately, the servant had been too thick to question his appearance and let him in. When he reached Vlad's room, he knocked sharply. There was no answer. He knocked again, louder, and then, worried, silently pushed the door open.

The Chosen One was sitting on the edge of his coffin, his head buried in his hands. He didn't seem to have noticed that Bertrand was there, and Bertrand didn't know what to say, so he simply stood and observed for a while. Several minutes passed before Vlad finally moved, lifting his face away from his hands, just slightly, so that he could be heard.  
"Ingrid, I told you, I don't want to talk about it."  
"I'm not Ingrid." It was a stupid reflex, but he'd said it now and Vlad was suddenly scrambling to his feet, turning to look at him through what looked suspiciously like tears.  
"Bertrand, how can you be-?"  
"I don't know. Sethius, somehow. Vlad-" And then the young vampire was clinging to him – yes, those were definitely tears now soaking his shoulder – mumbling apologies and regrets and promises of love.

Bertrand knew he should be angry; that now, of all times, he should bear a grudge. Instead he pressed his lips to Vlad's forehead and wrapped his arms tight around him.

"It's alright. I'm home."


	124. Guardian Angel

**Just a little bit of randomness I wrote while listening to Within Temptation's "Stairway to the Skies". Not sure that had _much_ influence on it, but there might be a couple of elements. Anyway. Bit weird, bit slashy. Enjoy.**

**Spoilers for 3x02, but really you should have caught up that far by now...**

**Disclaimer: Of course it's not mine.**

Bertrand du Fortunesa had always been different. While every child around him played, and later when their grown selves drank, he strove to better himself. He studied, and trained, and marched steadily onwards towards a purpose nobody could get him to disclose.  
"I don't know, but I have to be ready," he told those who asked, "I am guided by an angel, and he will see me to success."

At night, when darkness fell, he would sit and converse with the angel, who came to him in the form of a young man. Sometimes – often – all he could hear was his voice, but there were times that his angel would come to sit by his bed and talk of destiny. He would tell him what he needed to do, what was required of him if he was to meet his fate head-on, and the next day Bertrand would work himself into the ground trying to impress him. Once, he had reached out for the boy, but he had simply faded away as his hand passed through him.

Tonight, the angel seemed sad.  
"I can't send you to this fate without offering you a choice," he sighed at last, "and this choice will define you." Bertrand sat up with a frown.  
"What fate? What choice?" His angel was silent for a moment, searching for the words he needed.

"My orders are to tell you to go to the next town, where you will meet a man. You are to report to him for further instructions." He paused, then shook his head. "The man is no man, but a vampire. He will kill you, and you will be reborn into an eternity of searching for a Chosen One. One who will lead his kind to greatness. The road will be long and lonely, Bertrand, and you will suffer. But if you choose to stay here, not to travel tomorrow... you will be spared. You will be _free_. And... and I will never see you again."

Bertrand sat in silence for a moment, considering this.  
"Why?" He settled on, at last. "Why would you never see me again?"  
"I'm... a spirit. Your guardian; I'm supposed to get you to where you're meant to be. Which is with the Chosen One. But I will one day _be_ the Chosen One, and then it will be your turn to get me where _I'm_ meant to be. I won't remember any of this. Maybe you won't, either. But that's how it works. Now I've warned you, changed the course of fate, I'll be in trouble. They won't let me see you any more. But if you did as you were supposed to... my work would be done, and they wouldn't let me see you any more."  
"Who are they?" The angel shrugged.  
"Just 'they'." Bertrand closed his eyes for a moment, trying to process the bewildering array of new information, and when he opened them, he was alone.

He spent the night going over his options; he could die tomorrow, and spend eternity in what sounded like purgatory, if not hell. That didn't sound appealing at all. The alternative was to live out his days, here in this village, and die naturally. At least, he hoped so; there were no guarantees, after all, especially without his angel to watch over him. His angel would be disgraced, and even if he did as he was told, Bertrand would never see him again, would never get to tell him how he felt.

He frowned; maybe he couldn't _tell_ him that he'd grown shamefully, sinfully fond of him over the years, but perhaps he could _show_ him that his friendship had mattered. And if his beloved angel was to be the Chosen One, there might even be a way to ensure that they would meet again.

As the sun rose, he said goodbye to his family and set off towards the nearest town.

* * *

When he woke, he was dead. He knew it; knew it by the silence of his heart and the stillness of his lungs. His sire had explained his eternal task to him, sunk his fangs in, and left him there to die. Now, he sat up to find himself completely, utterly alone, a book beside him where his sire had dropped it in the dust as Bertrand had gasped his last desperate breaths through his agony.

"Why did you choose this?" He turned to find that he wasn't alone at all; his angel was standing a short distance behind him, his countenance troubled. The boy moved forward to run a hand over Bertrand's curls in what he imagined was supposed to be a soothing gesture. He _felt_ it.  
"I didn't want you to get in trouble... I wanted to see you again. Even if it was centuries. I thought... I thought you had to go."  
"I do." The angel looked unspeakably sad. "I was permitted to see you once more, to... to tell you that the boy you seek..._ I..._ will have the power to snuff out the rays of the sun. And I wanted to say goodbye. They... they gave me form, so I could..." He came to kneel beside Bertrand on the ground, one hand brushing softly over his cheek. Before the newly-turned vampire knew what was happening, his hand was tangled in the angel's hair and their lips were pressed together.

When at last the boy pulled back, Bertrand hardly knew how to react. For two men – let alone an angel and a vampire – to kiss like that, to _feel_ like that... it was a sin, and yet how could an angel be given corporeal form in order to sin? How could something that felt so right truly be wrong?  
"I don't even know your name," he blurted, stupidly, and the boy smiled softly.  
"I'm your Angel Vladimir. Find me." The last was an urgent whisper as he leant in again, but no sooner had his warm lips touched Bertrand's cool ones than he was alone again. His angel had vanished, and they might not meet again for centuries. They might not remember.

* * *

Bertrand knew that his new student didn't understand the look of joy and awe that had lit up his face like a beacon when he'd broken out of the UV cage. _The power to snuff out the rays of the sun._ It was all coming true, just as his angel had promised so many centuries ago.

He had found him.


	125. Biographical

**Right, I'm posting this just because I wrote it in like May of last year and you'll see why that makes me get all smug in a minute. It's not an attack on anyone or a making-a-point fic, I just wrote it when I was bored. Enjoy!**

**SPOILERS FOR not much really, I dunno, say series three and four to be on the safe side.**

**Not my show.**

_It's sad Erin died in the fic. Not so bothered about Bertrand._

* * *

_There's only one guy I really can't stand in this show, creepy tutor guy. Like, why do you have to exist._

* * *

_I hear someone's getting written out. Hope it's du Fortunesa, backstabbing weirdo. Never liked him._

* * *

Vlad stared at the screen. He must have just stumbled onto the wrong bit of the internet. Or maybe letting the BBC turn his autobiography into a children's drama series had been a bad idea. They'd been so accurate, though, and yet... somehow the point had been missed. And he really hoped these weren't children writing such horrible reviews. He tried another forum.

* * *

_Who's your favourite character from series three? (__Log in__ to vote or see results below)_

_Vlad (87 votes)  
Ingrid (72 votes)  
The Count (72 votes)  
Erin (65 votes)  
Wolfie (50 votes)  
Renfield (35 votes)  
Bertrand (3 votes)_

* * *

He made himself an account.

* * *

_Wolfie (50 votes)  
Renfield (35 votes)  
Bertrand (4 votes)  
Thanks for voting!_

* * *

He sighed before moving on to a different corner of the web, one that unsettled him.

* * *

_Bertrand writhed against the chains that held him in place, but they were made of the strongest argentilium and coated with garlic paste for extra security. Vlad laughed as sunlight began to creep across the room towards him.  
"That will teach you to betray me, Bertrand. And it will set a great example of what happens to those who hurt Erin. One day she will be my Queen."_

* * *

He hissed slightly and tried another story, but this began with a disclaimer.

* * *

_**So guys I've done what we all want to do really and got rid of Bertrand, in this story he never existed, there's an OC who does a couple of his relevant plot things but they're way more likeable.**_

* * *

Vlad frowned. What had Bertrand done to deserve this? He'd been as loyal as could be expected of a vampire, really, despite their teething troubles – which really hadn't been entirely the tutor's fault – no more treacherous than Ingrid or even Erin, and now people were rooting for him to be dust? Pretending he didn't exist?

* * *

_The curly haired one, I don't know his name, I don't care, he's just the stupidest character. I don't know why Vlad hasn't staked him yet._

* * *

He closed his eyes and wished they'd had more time. He'd grown to care about Bertrand, more than he should have, he knew. But the fans would get their wish, he knew, although he would never get his; the BBC were being meticulously accurate, and Bertrand would be dust by the end of the fourth series.

He just wished more people would _care_. He had cared.

Bertrand du Fortunesa had been so very worth caring for.


	126. Never

**Yeah so this is a direct rip of 'If I Never Knew You' from Pocahontas, and it's not my best work but here it is. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Bertrand hung his head, slumping forwards and allowing the fangcuffs to keep him upright. The slight ache as they bit into his wrists was irrelevant; he was chained to an argentalium pole in an argentalium-lined cell, and this was the end of the line.

It was his own fault, really; wasn't he supposed to be the strategist? He should have realised that getting the Count to see things their way, getting him to accept them and stop the wedding... He should have known it wasn't going to end there. It had been Ramanga who'd set him up, framed him for attempted Grand High Treason, and now he languished in a Council cell, waiting for the dawn. From here he could see the door to a room with a trapdoor in the roof; it didn't take a genius to work out what was going to become of him.

Outside, he heard Ingrid's voice.  
"My brother wishes to look into the eyes of the scum who tried to kill him." He heard the guards hesitate; they had been Bertrand's recruits, not so many decades ago, and they'd been jittery all evening, faced with the task of guarding their former commander. He closed his eyes and hoped against all hope.  
"...Five minutes." He hoped Lesauvage got the promotion he deserved, really he did.  
"Excellent. Come on, boys, let's give them some privacy." On second thoughts, if he and Bellamy were _both_ going to fall for Ingrid's 'feminine wiles' voice, he definitely wasn't ready to be Captain of the Guard.

Still, he was glad it had worked, as Vlad let himself into the cell and dropped to his knees in front of him. As Bertrand raised his head, he realised that Vlad was mirroring his position, except for the hand reaching up to touch his cheek.  
"Bertrand, I'm so sorry-"  
"Vlad, I'd... I'd rather die at dawn than live another four centuries without you."  
"Don't say that-"  
"I spent my life searching for you, and I never even knew what I'd find. I couldn't begin to imagine that that... that empty hole inside me could be filled." Vlad made a choked kind of noise. "Oh, thanks, Vlad. I'm trying to be romantic with my last words and your mind's in the gutter." The boy's face fell.  
"I thought... when Dad said he understood, I thought maybe things would work out. I didn't realise how angry Ramanga would be, Bertrand, I'm so sorry-"  
"It's alright. It... it'll be alright. I mean it, I'd rather have loved you for a little while than gone on forever alone. You just... just promise me you'll be careful."

The Chosen One wrapped his arms around him, pressing soft, sorrowful kisses to his neck and trying not to burst into tears. Bertrand could do nothing to reassure him, nothing but keep murmuring heartfelt platitudes.  
"I wouldn't change a single thing, Vlad. Not from the moment I met you." Vlad looked up, startled, and he seized the opportunity to lean forward as far as he could and claim his lips one last time. Only Ingrid's voice from the doorway wrenched them apart.  
"Vlad. We've got to go." She paused, then carried on with a sigh. "The sun's almost up."

Vlad looked up, over Bertrand's shoulder, and met his sister's eyes for a second before turning back to his former tutor.  
"I don't want to leave you."  
"Just... remember what I've taught you, and you'll be alright. It'll be just like I'm there with you." There were tears in Vlad's eyes as he stumbled away, and Bertrand turned his head to call out as the cell door closed behind him. "Thank you, Vlad. For giving my life meaning." He heard the Chosen One stifle a sob.  
"You too, Bertrand. I was so lost-" There was another choked noise, and the sound of a door further away slamming shut.

Then all was silent, and Bertrand was left alone to ponder his fate. It wouldn't be long now; soon he would be dragged into that sun-trap and chained there to die. He wondered briefly whether it would hurt, but of course he'd seen others suffer similar fates; he knew the pain was unbearable. Vampires who'd resisted the worst kinds of torture for weeks with barely a grunt of complaint had screamed in the sun's harsh rays. And then, of course, nothing.

He was dragged from his cell by guards he didn't recognise, across the corridor and to his knees once more, shackled to an iron ring in the floor. He looked up, trying to work out whether he could get himself out of the way of the sun, but the trapdoor above him was larger than he remembered and there was no hope of escape. And then Vlad was standing beside him, rubbing frantically at his own neck, removing the concealer that hid his scars.  
"Look. These marks were left by Bertrand du Fortunesa!" He closed his eyes; Vlad was protecting himself after all, siding with Ramanga, proving the allegations of treason. He could hear the murmurs of the assembled Council members, watching through UV glass.  
"Yes, we can all see the marks of treason." Vlad's eyes widened – clearly he hadn't realised the conclusions that would be drawn – and knelt beside Bertrand, tangling his hand in his hair and easing his head to the side, exposing one part of his throat.  
"And _these_ are my doing." He must have kissed away most of the makeup in the cell; it took barely the gentlest wipe with his hand and confusion broke out among the spectators as the bitemarks were exposed.

Vlad waited until they were quiet, then spoke again, his voice ringing out clear as a bell.  
"This man is my loyal servant, but more than that... I love him." Their eyes met and Vlad shrugged apologetically; he hadn't wanted to say it for the first time in these circumstances. "He is mine, and nobody is to harm him, or they will be punished as if they'd attacked _me_." They all knew the punishment for that – there was a perfect example chained in front of them, after all – and every vampire present stilled to listen to Vlad's next words.

"If you plan to open that trapdoor on him, you'll have to open it on me too. And then my army _will_ destroy you all. Ramanga falsified charges of treason because he wanted his daughter to receive my first bite; he was furious when he was denied that. When he found out it was too late. He's the traitor, not Bertrand. _Let him go._" The power in his voice was compelling; before Bertrand could really understand what was happening, his hands were free and Vlad was pulling him to his feet, leading him hurriedly from the execution room.

"What-?"  
"Lesauvage, send a few units after Ramanga the moment night falls. I want him brought back here undead, if possible. If not, bring the ashes, and his daughter. Adze _must_ be taken undead. Don't fail me." Lesauvage bowed, and disappeared into the depths of the building to make the proper arrangements. "Bellamy, stick to Bertrand like glue. I know he can take care of himself, but he's safer with backup."  
"Where are you going?" Vlad grimaced, squeezing Bertrand's hand.  
"I have to go and stop Ingrid and Dad from planning a blood-binding ceremony." He leant in close to whisper so that only his lover could hear. "Not until I've had chance to ask you properly."

He turned to leave, but Bertrand had a vice-like grip on his hand, and a quick glance at his valet's determined face assured him that he was going nowhere.  
"On second thoughts, Bellamy, I'll take him from here. I'll call if we need you." Then they were speeding to an empty guest chamber, safe from the prying eyes of curious elderly Council members who'd never seen a real gay couple before.

For several long moments, they simply clung to each other in silence, but then Vlad spoke again.  
"I'm sorry I had to tell everyone... I know you didn't want people to know, but I couldn't lose you... I just couldn't."  
"You risked your own unlife for me." Bertrand couldn't sound as menacing as usual, though, not with his lips still pressed against Vlad's neck. "Don't make a habit of it."  
"I look after what's mine," the Chosen One promised him, suddenly possessive, "and you are definitely _mine_." Bertrand nodded in agreement.

"You know we're technically already-?"  
"Bound, yes, and so does the entire Council, now, but Dad's annoyed enough that we exchanged bites in the first place. He's going to insist we make the proper fuss at some point."  
"Not yet, though?" Vlad shook his head.  
"No. I'll call them off," his hand ran gently down Bertrand's back, "just as soon as I've got all the tension out of these muscles. You looked pretty uncomfortable back there."  
"I've had more comfortable nights," he conceded.  
"Well then," Vlad smirked, pressing their lips together for a brief moment, "shirt off."


	127. Makeover

**You lot don't mind the tiniest hints of implied femslash raciness, do you? Good... Enjoy, then!**

**Spoilers up to... 4x09 to be safe?**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, of course.**

Erin froze as a hand came from nowhere to cover her mouth.  
"Easy, Erin, it's just me." She relaxed, Ingrid's voice soft in her ear as the older girl pulled her into the shadows. "So, you and my brother are finally over?" Erin glared at her, but since Ingrid hadn't yet removed her hand there wasn't a lot more she could do. "Want to make him pay?" She nodded, and at last the hand on her mouth shifted to grab her arm and pull her towards Ingrid's room. "Makeover time."

Erin had planned to protest, really she had, because makeovers really weren't her thing, but Ingrid had opted to remove her lip gloss by kissing her senseless and then, well, things had spiralled from there. It wasn't until some time later that she found herself zipping up a leather jacket and turning to get Ingrid's opinion.  
"It was going to be your birthday present anyway," Ingrid confided as she looked her up and down approvingly, "I wanted to see you in it." Erin wasn't sure if she meant the jacket or the whole getup – none of it seemed quite Ingrid's style, too tomboyish for the older girl's tastes, and she knew she was shorter than her – but the way Ingrid was looking at her was enough to reassure her that it suited her. Getting by without mirrors was going to take some getting used to.

"So," Ingrid murmured, nipping at Erin's earlobe as she spoke, "you like it?" Again, it was unclear what she meant, but Erin nodded anyway before wrapping her arms around her friend – more than friend? - and kissing her again.

Maybe being a vampire had its perks, after all.


	128. House

**Hello! Long time no post, sorry. Anyway, here's a het rarepair for you, set a few months after 'Meeting' and a fair few years before 'Study'.**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine...**

"Thanks for helping me move," Bertrand began as they made their way down the road towards his new house, "not that I've actually got anything to move in." He made a vague gesture towards his backpack, which contained every item of clothing he'd brought with him when he fled Garside, and the holdall that seemed to contain nothing but books and swords.  
"Well, you couldn't stay in that Travelodge forever," Chloe shrugged, "and since you've decided to stay for a bit longer, you can get Vlad to send your stuff over, can't you?" Bertrand flinched at the sound of Vlad's name, but nodded.

He'd received a message only just over a month after his arrival in Stokely; Vlad's people had tracked him down, it seemed, and Vlad wanted to grant him a full pardon. He'd invited him back to his household, but Bertrand wasn't quite ready for that yet. Thankfully, when he'd said as much, his ruler had seemed to understand; he wondered in fact if Vlad would have found his return just as awkward as he himself would. At any rate, that had been three months back, and now here he was, passing through the front gate of his new house – a house of his _own_ – with Chloe in tow.

He opened the door and stopped, confused, staring at the keys in his hand. If he hadn't just used them to unlock the front door himself, he'd have thought he'd got the wrong house. He'd bought it unfurnished, certain that after years on the road, squatting in caves and derelict hovels, a working roof and some curtains would be the only homely touches he'd need. _This_ house had colourful woven rugs on the floor, and a battered old sofa in the living room – tables, chairs, and he had a sneaking suspicion that when he ventured upstairs, he'd find a bed.

There was only one possible explanation; he turned to Chloe, one eyebrow raised, frowning.  
"Did you do this?" She seemed worried, as if she thought he was going to scold her.  
"Yeah. Sorry, I just thought-"  
"It's too much. Why are you being so nice to me?" She glanced around at the empty, darkened street and pulled him further inside, closing the door behind them.  
"Look, I just asked around for some spare furniture and swiped your keys, that's all. I told people your old house burnt down and that's why you didn't have anything. You'd be amazed what people were planning to throw out." He shook his head.  
"That doesn't answer my question."

Chloe sighed and perched on the arm of the sofa.  
"You might be comfortable enough with bare floors and blank walls, but _I _need somewhere to sit and a bit of colour around the place. It's just what I'm used to."  
"You intend to spend time here, then?" She nodded.  
"Well, yeah, if that's alright. I thought... we're sort of friends, aren't we?"

He'd pulled her to her feet and into an embrace before either of them really knew what was happening. Neither of them, however, seemed inclined to pull away, and so they stood, arms around one another, for several minutes before Chloe spoke again.  
"Robin would go nuts if he saw you this near my neck. I think he's scared you'll bite me." Bertrand tried to pull away, realising the wisdom of her words, but she held firm. "Or maybe he's scared we'll fall in love and all that soppy _Twilight_ rubbish."  
"Why would he think that?" Bertrand frowned, but as she pulled back to get a good look at his face he found himself swooping down to kiss her, his movements careful and tender as she began to kiss back.

"Woah... alright. That was unexpected." Bertrand hung his head as Chloe finally moved away from him - she must be furious, and she had every right to be - but then her hand was wrapping around his, a hesitant smile on her face. "Nice, though."  
"Just nice?" He teased, pushing his luck. She wasn't panicking, she wasn't recoiling; maybe she saw him as more than just a monster after all.  
"If you want better adjectives, you'll have to convince me."

_That_, he could do.


	129. Princess

**Just a little bit of slashy B/V silliness because they needed some fluff. Anyone who's requested something specific from me recently, it's noted down somewhere but I've been flat out and haven't got around to working my way down my prompt list.**

**SPOILERS FOR **_**The Princess Diaries **_**(film). Well. Kind of.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, of course.**

"Are you sure you want to watch _this_ film?" Bertrand regarded it suspiciously, taking in every detail of the DVD cover. "With _me_?"  
"Stop policing gender stereotypes," The Grand High Vampire was using his most imperious tone, which never meant anything good for him, "and join me."

That was how Bertrand du Fortunesa, who had struck fear into the hearts of breather and vampire alike for over four centuries, found himself perched awkwardly on the sofa in Vlad's private lounge, watching _The Princess Diaries_. Over the course of the film – not a _terrible_ story, he supposed, and he could almost see why it would appeal to Vlad, who'd hardly expected to be the Chosen One when he was younger – his ruler had shifted along the couch and was now more or less leaning on his valet. Bertrand didn't mind; this, he supposed, was what servants were for. To provide company and serve as a pillow when required.

"Joe and the Queen," Vlad murmured as the credits rolled, "have to be the cutest love story ever." That startled him.  
"No, he'd never- he's- she's his _boss_, she's under his protection, he can't take advantage of that." Vlad sat up, peering intently at him as if they were analysing Chaucer rather than a silly breather film.  
"Because he's her bodyguard?" Bertrand nodded; blood, he'd spent enough time pondering the subject before ever seeing the film. "What if... what if his boss wanted him to, but didn't want to ask because that would be too close to ordering him to feel something?"

Bertrand narrowed his eyes; why did Vlad _care_ so much?  
"I don't know. How would he know she wanted him if she never said so?"  
"They danced-"  
"_We_ danced, at your ball last week, so that doesn't mean anything. Remember, when you chose the most conspicuous method possible to try to subtly quiz me about the security arrangements?"  
"I remember." Vlad's voice was low, his eyes downcast – but then he looked up. "Then perhaps she should sit him down with a film to hint at her true feelings."

Bertrand pinched at the bridge of his nose; this conversation was going to replay in his dreams tonight, he just knew it. Only in his dreams, Vlad would go on to say that _he_ wanted _his_ bodyguard...  
"Perhaps, and I wish her luck. Well, if we're done-"  
"Bertrand, please. Tell me how she could make him see, if all that had failed."

He sighed; he knew the answer all too well.  
"If she's done all that, and he's still at her side, he probably wishes he could believe that all of those things were really hints, not just coincidences. Which means he'd be open to the suggestion, if only she made it in such a way that there was no doubt. Now if that's all-" But then Vlad's lips were crushed against his own, pulling away too soon to whisper in his ear.  
"No doubt." He took leave of his senses and pulled his beloved Chosen One back in.  
"No, no doubt there."


	130. Assumption

**Sort of possible-AU sequel to 'Collection' but if you don't want to read that all you really need to know is that one of Bertrand's friends picked up his ashes and took them home with him after the events of 4x09.**

**Disclaimer: Mori is mine. Nothing else is.**

The door opened and there stood Vlad, just as he'd imagined. After months of research and preparation on Mori's part, here Bertrand stood, undead as the night he was turned, on the doorstep of the new Dracula residence, waiting nervously to be welcomed back. In the weeks it had taken him to travel back here without being spotted, he'd often imagined this very moment – Vlad's stunned expression as he opened the door, the moment of stillness as they each just processed the fact that the other was really there, that they were together again. And then... the moment came to an end. Vlad opened his mouth, and Bertrand waited to hear what beautiful words would receive him into Vlad's household once more. _I'm sorry_ seemed likely, or _welcome home, _or even just _how_? Bertrand didn't care what he said, just as long as he got to hear that voice again.

"Shapeshifter." Well, that was unexpected. And then, "GUARDS!"

Before Bertrand could even react, Vlad had reached across the threshold, spun him around, and pushed him to his knees. He wasn't sure when it had become policy to keep fangcuffs by the front door but the Chosen One had certainly produced them from somewhere as he snapped them onto Bertrand's wrists, forced behind his back as he fell.  
"Who are you?" Caught by surprise, he could only blurt out the unadorned truth.  
"I'm... Bertrand du Fortunesa."  
"How _dare_ you say that?" Vlad moved around to stand in front of him, but judging by the continued pressure on his arms, the guards he'd called for had arrived now. The venom in Vlad's voice shocked him. "How dare you use _his _face, _his _name?"  
"Vlad, please, it's me. Mori, he found a way- please. You have to believe me."

But the Chosen One was pulling out a stake, and as he placed the tip of it carefully against his prisoner's chest, all Bertrand could do was stare at him. He knew he probably looked as heartbroken as he felt, as heartbroken as he'd been the first time this had happened. Vlad swallowed hard, looking for the first time as if he doubted himself, and Bertrand couldn't seem to control his tongue any more.  
"What, I don't even get a hug this time?" Vlad almost dropped the stake. It took him a moment, but he gathered his composure and _glared_.  
"Alright, suppose I believed you for some reason. Why are you here?" Bertrand found himself glaring right back.  
"Just once, could you _not_ assume I'm trying to kill you?" The Chosen One was still waiting for an answer, though; he hesitated for a moment, trying to get his thoughts into some kind of order, then sighed. "I came home."  
"When did you live here-?"  
"You, Vlad. You're... you're home, for me." He hung his head, waiting to be staked or sent away, but instead he sensed Vlad moving to talk to the guards in a voice so low he couldn't make out a word. He heard the door to the house open and close, and then he felt his hands slip free of the cuffs as they were unlocked.

"You're back," Vlad murmured, as Bertrand rose to his feet and turned to face him. "You're really... it's you?"  
"It's me. Mori brought me back, so it's a good thing you handed me over." He hesitated. "He also told me not to come."  
"But you did."  
"Yeah." Of course he had; wasn't that inevitable?  
"Bertrand..." The Chosen One was leaning closer, one hand reaching up to touch Bertrand's cheek... and then it ran down his arm and was gone. "Come in."


	131. Fang

**A request for mygayshoes over on Tumblr, who wanted the Count freaking out about- well. That would be telling. Set after series four but no particular spoilers as such. It's quite short, but I hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine!**

"_RENFIELD!" _The Count had barely lowered his fork – still holding half of a bitesize chunk of ocelot - from his mouth before he was shouting for his drooling drudge, who appeared almost instantly just a little too close to his shoulder. His children glanced up, annoyed, before returning to their own meals. Whatever their father was on about now was of no interest to them unless the food was poisoned – and it didn't _taste_ any more poisonous than any other meal of Renfield's creation.

"What is it, Master? Is something wrong? Are you going to bite me?" It was almost impressive, how much of Renfield's neck he could expose without actually touching his collar. He got a slap around the head for his pains, and then the Count grabbed him, dragging him down so that he could get a good look at the forkful of meat now resting innocently on his plate.  
"_What_ is _that_?" He pointed, looking disgusted, and even Ingrid couldn't contain her curiosity enough to keep from leaning in.  
"Looks like a bit of fang to me," she shrugged after a long moment, "bad luck, Daddy."  
"What? No! No, not my beautiful fangs! Renfield, come with me and check for damage!" He almost ran from the room, keeping up a steady stream of lamentations that they could hear all the way to the throne room, which had the most candles and was therefore best for this kind of inspection.

The three children sat in silence for a moment, and then Ingrid reached over to pick up the white shard from her father's plate, helping herself to the ocelot's nose while she was at it.  
"I'll have that back... Well done, Wolfie, he'll be paranoid for weeks now." Wolfie smiled at her, a slightly gappy grin, and accepted the high five she offered him.

The Count's voice drifted in through the open door.  
"Then look _closer_, you incompetent buffoon, it must have come from somewhere and I need to get it fixed!" Even Vlad couldn't help sniggering at that.


	132. Alone

**MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR ALL OF SERIES FOUR BASICALLY**

**Anyway, I was accused of trying to make someone (who shall remain nameless) like a character they didn't really like. So now, just to rub salt in the wound... I'm going to make you _understand _him_._**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine unless I missed something really important.**

Bertrand was dust.

It was hard to believe, even now; even though he'd _seen_ the dust, witnessed Vlad's explanatory tirade about the incident, heard his mum gloat about how now her only true rival was gone.

It was an interesting choice of words, Malik thought. _Rival_. Not a threat, not an enemy. _Rival._ As if they were competing _for _something. He wondered, briefly, if she would have used the same term to describe Ryan. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if his mother was just killing off everyone he got close to, just so he'd rely on her. If so, she was doing a good job of it.

That was ridiculous; paranoia, making him doubt even his own mother, the only person in the world he could really trust. She was, once again, all he had left, and it had been Vlad who'd robbed him of the only person at this stinking school who really seemed to care about him. He was under no illusions that he and Bertrand would ever have been best friends, but the tutor had taken an interest, had helped them in revamp – unlike Ingrid – and defended them to Vlad when they got rebellious and he got dust-happy.

Even the Count – his _father_ – had barely even noticed his existence before that business with Ramanga and the revelation of his true parentage. Since then he'd made an effort to show an interest in his newfound eldest son, but Malik had a suspicion he still preferred the Grand High Wimpire. No, Bertrand had been the only one here who'd taken an interest in Malik for who he really was.

Now Bertrand was gone, and Vlad was to blame. His mother was all he had left, and if her plans for power and his plans for revenge happened to coincide, well, so much the better.

Vlad was going to pay.


End file.
